It is 3:33 on a frigid Tuesday morning in Detroit, Michigan. You have just hit the high score of 87,000 points on Tempest at the local 7-11. You navigate your way home through slush filled potholes and black ice in your 1996 Ford Bronco (which sports a 6 inch suspension lift.) Sitting in the console is your refreshing multi flavored Slurpee, which eagerly awaits your Sweet Tart powdered lips.
Windows are iced from the inside. Vision is blurred. The audio system is on a piercing level 37 volume. Ears are stinging. Retinas are vibrating. Nostrils are running. Cerebral activity is dropping out of maximum readable levels, while your intelligence is depleting at supersonic speed. Worry sets in.
Hips thrust and fists pump spasmically, when you suddenly realize that this actually feels nice...quite nice. Yes, quite nice, but why? What? What is this niceness??? This niceness my brothers and sisters is Mr. Chico Bamboo and his High Score Hustler. Snuggles.