I'm famous.  I don't mean to sound conceited, but I am famous.  To put it in terms more palatable to the lower classes who are only capable of absorbing information when it rhymes: I'm more famous than John Stamos - I mean now, not at the height of his fame.  For those of you that still need to muddle through each pathetic, fameless day gripping your worthless high school diplomas secure in the knowledge that the thousands of hours you spent sort of learning French and Science make you better than the average illiterate working man, I can offer only this advice: don't fully explore level Q3DM19 of the monster hit game Quake 3 Arena.  Just don't, that's all I'm saying.  If you want to continue to feel good about your hard-won but ultimately anonymous existence, just skip that level entirely.  Come to think of it, I'm more than regular famous; I'm one of the special, single-name celebrities like Charo and God and Frankenstein.

Yet with all my fame and heavy connections, nobody at Origin had the common decency to include me in the industry-wide memo that informed famous heavy-hitters of the fact that Ultima IX is broken and should not be purchased.  

As a result, guess who payed for Ultima IX?  Me.  And guess who's going to pay for making me pay for Ultima IX?  Lord British. 

This is the point where I would normally take a phrase and cleverly turn it to make it more foul-mouthed and punch-centric.  For instance:  I'm gonna put fifty bucks of fat into your fucking lip, British. 

If there's one thing funnier than punching, it's punching a forty year old man wearing a crown.  And if that man just stole fifty bucks from you and everyone you know, including sick children, then it might just transcend mere comedy and become something magical, like vigilante justice.

However, our shift supervisor at UGO feels that all our "punch and fuck" humor appeals mainly to people living below the poverty line and not to the coveted demographic of super-smart adventure game types with a strong desire to spend their disposable income on detailed instructions for viewing "Tomb Raider's" tit-like cubes.  He suggested that we try some "classy and intelligent" humor, such as anagrams.

After some research, I've discovered that nothing says "punch me before I talk about Linux" like anagrams.  I enjoy the general broken English vibe of anagrams - foreigners = funny- but I really hate the headache-generating rule that you have to rearrange the existing letters of a word to form these funny phrases.   I don't want to do that.  Nobody I know wants to do that.  So I've invented a new form of wordgame for people who aren't fucking geniuses that I call Cramagrams.  I named it Cramagrams because when some bearded stinkpit wearing a potato-chip stained User Friendly T-shirt and fat pants whines that your work isn't really an anagram, you can tell him no, it's a Cramagram.  When he asks what that is, you tell him it's just like an anagram except you're going to cram your foot up his ass.   If your life is anything like Sanford and Son, he'll probably say "Well, I never" at which point you should consider replying "and with that distended belly, you never will."  Then cram your foot up his ass.

Anyway, here's how it works:

1. Pick a word or phrase to be "rearranged".  In the rough street-inspired parlance of Cramagrams, this is called the "motherfucking determinant".

2. Cramagrams borrows the concept of "buying a vowel" from TV's Wheel of Fortune, with the following two modifications: your purchase doesn't have to be a vowel and you don't have to actually buy it.  In other words, simply replace the motherfucking determinant with any phrase you want.  As long as it sounds like it could be a clever anagram, you win!  That's the "motherfucking magic of Cramagrams!" [Note to id software: ®©™ - ed.]

3. The third rule of Cramagrams is that you don't talk about Cramagrams.   It's really more of a personality test than a word game.  Explain the rules only if somebody's uptight enough to point out that your found poetry isn't a proper anagram.  The explanation can help pass the time as the fire department is uncramming your foot from his ass.

Here's a sample:

Ultima IX: Ascension

Don't work? Tuf!
I rip u off
pewter ankh. bah!
buy fast car! thanx!
L Brit: crowny fag
Cloth map? wipe ass!
boo hoo TNT
Money where? In toilet?

If anybody has Lord British's email address, home address, or phone address, please forward it to me.  I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm getting my money back.  If you're Lord British and you're reading this: you and your boyfriend Chuckles better enjoy my fifty bucks while you can, jerkoff.  If you're Chris Roberts: you and your boyfriend Lord British better enjoy my $7.50 while you can, asswipe, because, now that I think about it, I want my Wing Commander The Shitty Movie money back, too.