Community Kudos

Alright Kudos and stuff. Let's get this kicking.

First off apologies in advance — I think I may have missed a few noms this week. Maybe in future we can have a rule where noms...

— Have to be delivered by email (I have no way of keeping track of noms sent on twitter or in person) — And there has to be the word 'nom' or 'kudos' in the subject header.

This will just make it easier for me to keep track of them all. Thanks dudes and dudettes.

Alright onto da nom bombs.

Splicer was first, and asked to be address as 'Splicer the Magnificent: The Queens personal Sorcerer and Massager of Feet'. I definitely think that's worthy of a tag.

I’d like to nom DC for 3 points because I feel we haven’t really connected with him in the house-oh wait. Wrong vote. But seriously, I’d like to nom DC for just being an awesome voice in TAY. He’s always got a kind word and a pat on the back(or butt) for TAYbies. Now we gotta get him to a meat, pronto! Also, noms to Tofu for coining the term ‘ProTAYzoa’…like Chupa-thingy, it has a nice ring to it. That’s it for noms, for now.

What the hell is a ProTAYzoa? I'm lost man. I'm old and I don't understand things. #oldmanserrels

Time the GKN (Greenius Kudos Noms). This guy is so consistent with his nommage that he gets an acronym. Usually Greenius noms are laden with mental font switches and words and stuff. Today? All I got was a list of names!

Chuloopa D.C. FatShady masha2932 Scree

Puppylicks put up a good fight for the 'even more bizarre nom email than Shiggy award'.

Hark, Mark! How's things? I know I haven't sent a nom email in a while but it's friday and I have a big weekend planned, so I'm pretty pumped about it yes I am. I have not one but TWO nominations to dish out this week, so people better strap themselves in because this is gonna be BAWS.

ONE om nom nom goes to Shane (a.k.a. Shane) for sending me a copy of Brütal Legend and asking nothing in return. Shane, you are a damn good man. A hard man, but a good man.

and THE OTHER on nom nom does to D.C. for his SMURFYDOG'S PRE-EMPTIVE TAY CATCH UP BRIEF updates. It's a genius idea for TAYbies who are super busy and miss TAY a few pages at a time (like me, yes I'm busy at work, honest!). He also has Pey'j as his gravatar, and that is cool in my book. ROOCKET BEEWWWWTSS!

Righto mate thats it for me, got an oktoberfest celebration to head to tomorrow and it is SO FREAKIN STIEN TIEM! :D

Shiggy himself actually blew my mind by not using all caps. First time for everything.

MARK. ITS THAT TIME OF THE WEEK. KUDOS TIME. HERE THEY ARE IN NO SPECIFIC ORDER: 8. Doc What for being the rude, crude, bearded dude who has helped out with the whole Potaku gig for ages. Also for making NyanShiggy a reality. His videos from the EB Expo are amazing too. 72. The community as a whole is awesome too, without their support on everything Potaku, theres no way we could have got to where we are now and do what we wanna do with the show. So thank you everyone, you're a good bunch of kids. 671817262. Charles Martinet for recording AS MARIO for the show. Such a nerdy thing but me and Doc walked away after he recorded WITH CHILLS. BUT NOT THE SCARY ONES BUT THE HOLY SHIT THAT WAS AWESOME ONES. 1. You Marky Mark for all the support youve given for me and Doc. Knowing you had our back on all this helped us out and gave us confidence to go ahead and do Kotaku proud. -13. Me because why not. PEACE OUT HOLMES.

Thanks Shiggster, but I didn't do anything — it was all you guys. I'm very proud to be part of such a great community.

Oh, and since I haven't put it up yet — here's another great Potaku vid from the EB Expo.

Splicer said his noms were last minute, but they weren't really! Welbot is the true king of the last minute noms. Come to think of it, I haven't received any noms from Welbot. I guess they'll come in five minutes after I've hit 'publish'!

(Love you man)

Oh, yeah, Splicer's noms...

Last minute noms for Shane for being an all round awesome guy and kickstarting the TAYlend project.

And speaking of Shane here are his noms:

Sorry for last minute nature of this nom, but ... okay, there’s no excuse. I’m just a lazy sod.

DC is the man of the week. He has started to do the impossible. SUMMARISE TAY. To assist those who are absent for periods of time, and prevent anybody from missing anything. What a concept. And executed with such style. Nom of the week.

Hope you have a great weekend

Alrighty then — I'm going to give this one to DC! Well done mate, and have a great weekend everyone!

Community Kudos is your chance to reward Kotaku readers/posters who have done incredible things throughout the past week: sporadic acts of kindness, deft commenting skills — if someone deserves to be called out for being an incredible human being, Community Kudos is the place to do it. Send nominations directly to me at this address! The winner gets a cool prize from my massive box of stuff.*

Disclaimer — I'm am really bad at sending stuff out, I have a list, I haven't forgotten, I'm totally getting round to it. Sorry everyone!

Chris Hastings is the creator of the image used for Community Kudos –- you can check out his site, Dr McNinja, here.


Comments

    Hehe, welbot: king of the last minute... BUT HE ONLY NEEDS THAT ONE MINUTE AMIRITE!! XD

    Congrats DeeeCeee!

    Last edited 12/10/12 5:34 pm

      lol I do indeed only need one min, but he'd posted it before I walked in the door!!! :'(

    Awww damn you and your daylight savings! Now it's all over before I even get home!!!!

      I know! I only knew it was up because I saw Plainview ask on Twitter.

    Woohoo! Gratz DCfrond!!! Well deserved!

    Oh man...daylight savings time. I thought I had time to nom but I'm an hour behind.

    Congrats, D.C. A well-deserved win.

    Also Shiggy, I love you and the good Doc but you gotta stop nomming each other. It's getting predictable and turns this into a Potaku lovefest. :P

      The Shiggy and Doc What thing is like Ross and Rachel, Sam and Diane, Mulder and Scully. Tension you can cut with a freakin' knife. :P (They are awesome, though. Potaku's a thing of beauty!)

      Sorry.

        Don't be sorry...you guys nomming each other all the time is funny! :D

          I don't nom Shiggy. I rarely nom anyone. I only ever remember it's nom day when I see the kudos post :P IT'S LIKE YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW ME!

            I'm ill! Nothing I say makes sense when I'm ill! :P

    Grats D.C.! Your prize is... a meat held in your honour which you WILL ATTEND!

    GKN! :D - I thought I'd take up the Flu's super quick nom style (I'm pretty sure he was the first one to do it?) this week.

    You need a pee? :P

    Congratulations DC!

    Looks like my noms got lost in Mark's inbox, so thanks to Shane and Puppylicks for sharing the love.

    HUGE GRATS DCFRONDMANG

    I totally missed the nom'ming due to DST. That's my story, and I'm sticking with it (seriously yo, it's liek, 4pm up in heyah)

    But yeah. So well deserved on this one. Your contributions have been hugely appreciated!
    And extra-late kudos to all, because kudos.
    And awesome.

    TO THE PUB!

    Congrats DC!

    For real? Haha! Thanks, man! Thanks for all the kind words too, evoked this weird unfamiliar emotion that I can only assume is happiness. :P (Means a whole lot, more than you know!)

    Congrats to the other nominees too, you guys are awesome.

      Totally meant to nominate Sughly too. He knows why!

        Nawww, not necessary mang! If that were the case I'd be nomming you too :D

    #1.

    “Oh, Mama, can this really be the end?”

    MILFORD EARLE IN ASSOICATION WITH BERKLEY UNION PRESENTS:

    A RADIOSCOPIC INDUSTRIES BROADCAST COURTESY OF THE KODAK THEATRE AND THE GOOD PEOPLE AT BIKINI VOYEUR MAGAZINE.

    A FEATURE PRESENTATION FOR : VIEWED IN PLAINS PRODUCTIONS.

    SUMMER OF SIN IN THE VALLEY OF THE SELF-RIGHTEOUS.

    From the last vestiges of greatness is where explorers and rambling men find a truer sense of the unbound nature of all things lost now unto the ashes, fragmented into broken chaos, and lost in moments sudden and fleeting like blurred auras seen as shooting-stars pulsing in strange orange light around the coyotes near the old sawmill highway.

    The sawmill highway: the last road in to the reservoir where Conway Marston killed more than just time with his 1894 Winchester. A burnt-out Toyota sedan, a missing travelling salesman, and the hard rain of winter’s end washing it all away like nothing happened. County police said nothing did, and that’s where the story ends. And it was like that. The town did not mourn for a man perhaps considered to have no business coming on down the highway like he did. The sheriff never did find the salesman’s car and secrets still hide the nature of his captivity inside the trunk of Mr. Conway’s charred and blackened vehicle reported stolen at a point in the timeline that just didn’t seem to radiate at all an equitable continuity.

    But continuity is not a straight line like some people may think it to be. I seen it myself, like Mr. Conway continuing right on to host his bible group at the community centre on Wednesday night. And I think Mr. Conway still make-believed in the dramatic and binary oppositions like heaven and hell. Good and bad. That kind of thing. But there is good and bad in all things and Mr. Conway has seen the darkness too. A wooden cross at the reservoir -- all that remains of a day where burning gasoline smoked like storm clouds into a bright shining window of winter blue sky. “Sometimes,” they say, “of wild men are lost to harrowed seas where sunset shimmers lucid on water's torment too forlorn”.

    And there is a certain sadness to the sea. Like mountains. Have you ever felt the melancholy of a mountain and it’s resonance of nights spent dealing secrets at the Supa-Mart, near the old Twin Star Cinema? Over the road, at the end of the pier, is where Mr. Conway would let the older children shoot that old Winchester like all those outlaws we’d only seen in dreams and big-screen picture shows.

    This is to go further into the night then good sense may or may not prescribe. And the same rule can be seen in mountains too. Then you can understand of mountaineers who disappear deep beyond precipice into jagged maw.

    Marlon Brando? do you think he to be a mountaineer? An explorer of far away places? We are all the infinite echoes of stars, so consider him an astronaut. But an astronaut lost in shadow and folly. Can you find Brando’s old home in the Hollywood Hills. Mulholland Drive. Terrible things happened at that house. The tremor in my hand remains to this day and the cigarettes do nothing to quieten the blustery coldness coursing fast and roughshod like wild horses set free into veins sunken from misadventures in lament.

    The swimming pool, far away from the house, at the old Brando residence; a happy place. A hollywood summer, a burning sun brightly in blue skies. The swimming pool. Dive down deeper still, exhale, and look through calm water to a filtered reality beyond a surface that seems now a lifetime away, measured in fathoms, and remembered only through broken memory strung together in fragments torn and frayed like yellowed postcards long forgotten. An outside world that moves as water does in deepest pools on summer days that warm wet-skin turned cold from winter past. This tangent world far from horror, further still from dry land and its robust vice. No fire walks too bright nor found in water's calm embrace.

    A long walk to the Hollywood Reservoir at sunset. A motorcycle crash. A dangerous bend. Fatal. In darkness now where throttle’s turn drives fast those men to mountain's edge. The very precipice. The Packards from Key West call the rise over the valley, so sudden as it is: “Death Row”. Mr Packard’s motorcycle screams in thunder and heat along this very edge at night beneath dark skies. His headlamp flashes above it all, more shooting stars in mystery and darkest universe without the very corners witnessed here as the only evidence in further proceedings. And in due process, right or wrong, the jury finds only guilt in eyes lit deathly-blue with injustice and discontent served colder than the very best revenge.

    And at night time, behind the Hollywood sign, secrets are told of the evil unseen behind shadows and modest civility. “It’s the quiet ones,” she said. “Watch them shuttered safe, from behind Saigon mirror-shades.” Her sudden late-night monologues were the ideas you could find only on the most electronic of daytime-televisions radiating in households like white noise as a harmonic background accompaniment to high-end, designer anesthetics and the very best in gently humming prescription medications pulsing gently inside softest dreams. The kind of drugs that - this late into the night - gave you a narcotic distance from all things, like far away places lost in shadows where secrets hide unfound, long into the forever of all things endless even now so far from the beginning.

    But in all things there is truth, and - even now - sunglasses were a good idea. Now moonbeams shimmer radiant and out of focus like soft-lighting across a hot summer night sky. The flash bulbs pop bright and late into the night like a kind of muzzle-flash you can almost remember from the John Wayne matinees at the downtown Twin Star Cinemas.

    The Twin Star Cinemas, where Debbie Vallens was last seen in the winter of ‘98. You remember the rain and the way it sounded falling down in swirling patterns on the tin roof of the Twin Star. The sound of the rain and how it sounded goddamned gorgeous behind the lousy stories shouting at you loud like hellfire lit flickering and incandescent from a projector unseen but shaking hot to reels spinning fast to the off-tempo beat of a trembling death rattle.

    And you remember seeing Debbie’s pretty face on the milk cartons for what seemed like a forever to eternity. You remember how Debbie would always give you the last dying centimetres of her cigarette, and the way she held your hand, and how creeping smoke-tendrils spiralled silent and monotone up into the night as the last of the Lucky Strike burnt down to the very end.

    Maybe she was just another runaway running from something that nobody else could see. Maybe she disappeared like people do. The neon signs. Flashing lights. The 24 Hour Supa-Mart where business deals transpired like secrets and mystery inside automobiles at the carpark on the corner of Westchester and Main.

    Everything was here until it wasn’t. To everything an end, and an end to everything too. The streets can be a lonely place when all you have left is quiet memories flickering silent like the old black and whites at the Twin Star. Coffee. Cigarettes. The Bang Bang Bar. And back again to vice.

    Like scandals printed as front-page news for a gutter press. The flotsam and jetsam awash in a godless parade of sycophants on some dangerous narcissistic trip further over the edge than motorcyclists abandoned to a sudden moment of hesitation or one last bad turn. The throttle seems to skip a beat in those last moments like a murmuring heartbeat that hides something of a more sinister intent, like the evil that men do. The abyss. The clawing menace somewhere in the deepest water too far beyond any point of no return. Not a safe place for tourists or weekenders. Like riverboats lost unto jungle and regret. A dangerous recreation for outsiders bent on seeing the other side. But there’s nothing for them here now. Nothing to see.

    And cigarettes burn fast behind the Hollywood sign in those hopeful moments before sunrise, where you imagine possibility and a new beginning to all things. But Horrors still reside at the old Brando house. And on the way back down the hill you see a cross on the roadside where the young-man died atop a motorcycle, with aspirations too grand for a world where consequence hums in bad waves and subtle vibrations across swimming pools that promise escape for travellers back from darkness, inside a night where regret and horror come to life and glisten in gentle tones on roads just wet from passing summer rains.

      I nom Milford Earle or should I say PLAINVIEW?

        Plainview brings me coffee when I wish it to be so. Plainview lights my cigarettes. And on rainy days, Plainview holds my umbrella. I'm going to be "bangin' 7 gram rocks" in the Hollywood Hills. Do you know where Plainview is going to be? Writing for some two-bit newspaper, crying himself to sleep at night, and wishing he was me. Because Plainview will never amount to anything, he's a bum, he just ain't no good. If anything, I feel sorry for the kid.

      I am too sick read all those beautiful Wordy McWordersons. :(

    Summarised TAY? THIS I GOTTA SEE!

    Can somebody please summarise the summary (or just give me a link to it)?

      http://www.kotaku.com.au/2012/10/talk-amongst-yourselves-188/comment-page-10/#comment-826329

        http://www.kotaku.com.au/2012/10/talk-amongst-yourselves-188/comment-page-14/#comment-828799

        With 1 more summary :)

      DC stays online all the time and then gives a sentence of each of the days events. So each subject/conversation has it's own sentence

    Congratulations DC!

    Also, Greenius, what did you nom me for? I did nothing, NOTHING!

      Thanks scree and every one else! You guys are freakin' amazing, every last one of you! :D

    You missed my nom email Mark :(
    I even titled it "Hot guys and girls in your area" so that you knew it was about the kotaku community

    Edit: Congrats to Deeeee Ceeeeee now in Threeee Deeeee

    Last edited 13/10/12 1:35 pm

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