Game Localization Puns

Bob Barker

But good players are hard to find.

They said "please hold"

His best friend, Roy, was known around town for having an adventurous streak that a small town just couldn't satisfy. Roy yearned to travel the world, to rub shoulders with the well-to-do, and to squeeze every drop of excitement he could out of life. While most young folk in town, my grandpa included, were resigned to their lot, Roy was driven by his dream. He worked incredibly hard, taking every hired-hand and handy-man job he could find. He would walk five miles each way to clean a gutter if there was a nickel to be made. His hometown was always spotless, because Roy would pick up every glass bottle he saw to get the deposit back, and every can he found would get turned in for recycling.

The years stretched on. Grandpa settled down with his high school sweetheart in a one-room cottage and had my dad, and not much else. Roy kept hurrying from one job to the next, never spending a dime on a date. Everyone would just roll their eyes and quietly gossip about how poor Roy's obsession was robbing him of a real life.

One day, Roy showed up at Grandpa's house, all decked out in a brand new khaki safari kit, complete with helmet, binoculars, and elephant gun, and announced that he had finally saved up enough for passage to Africa to go big game hunting. He was especially proud of the fine leather boots he was sporting. "Indestructable" he called them, totally impenetrable to water, wind, and snow. No trench-foot for him while he tracked rhinos on the savannah!

Grandpa congratulated Roy on his achievement and wished him bon voyage. Over the next three months, the town felt Roy's absence. Litter lay where it fell, gutters overflowed in heavy rain, small-time farmers rose that bit earlier and bedded that bit later to cover the work Roy used to help with. Of course, the gossipers just turned their chat from how Roy needed a dose of reality to how thoughtless it was of him to just up and leave. Most folks were convinced Roy was gone for good. After all, how could he come back from such a high-falutin' adventure to his tiny, no-account hometown?

But return Roy did, and everyone crowded around at the bar to hear his account of his safari. To their surprise, Roy told them that, for all the time he had been away, he only bagged one trophy that was currently on a slow boat back. It turned out, once Roy got a close-up look at the elephants, rhinos, giraffes, gazelles, and all the fine animals of the African savannah, he lost all heart for hunting. He just couldn't imagi

Bard: I take out my lute and start playing

Druid: I take out my flute and join in

Dm: rolls. Everybody loves it. (Paraphrased. Took much longer)

Me: Hey. Where did you keep the flute? Would you say maybe in the brim of your shoe? Like how some keep a knife in their boot? Please, just go with it

So the lute and the flute from the boot was a hoot

Picture it. June, 1971. London.

Keith Emerson, Greg Lake and Carl Palmer are celebrating the release of their album Tarkus at the Seven Stars Pub.

Very quickly, both ELP and their BACs are riding high.

Nothing can spoil this evening.

Enter King Crimson, their bitter rivals in experimental jazz-fusion symphonic rock.

A chill hits the air, but they manage some level of civility.

Fripp even manages to put aside his seething anger at Lake for defecting to Emerson's new project and stands a round for all.

It's unclear exactly when Hawkwind arrives, but the strained emotions soon give way to genuine cheer and good will.

Lemmy, their basist at the time, could have that effect on people.

Unfortunately, he also later looks directly at Lake, points at Fripp and company and asks, "Waren't you wiv his lot?"

The police report explains that the ensuing fracas lasted for about 30 minutes at caused at least £4,500 (£56,604.93 in 2021, or $78,480.75) in damages, several broken bones and uncounted stiches.

The scrum finally calms down after Peter Gabriel, who was [throwing darts](https://darthelp.com/articles/the-history-of-darts/#:~:text=M

Every year, the team was in the state championship game, and usually won it handily. Every able lad within a few hundred miles wanted to play football for Central Catholic Fighting Knights.

Those who were familiar with the program, knew that the true heart and soul of the Knights football program was Sister Mary Margaret, an aged nun who would, in full habit, get out on the practice field and work on routes with the receivers, give pointers to the quarterbacks on their stances and releases, but most of all, love them like the second mother that she became to all of the boys in that program.

One year, on the eve of the state championship game, some evil malefactors broke into the convent and kidnapped Sister Mary Margaret. Everyone was stunned by the news, but none more so than the Knights of Central Catholic. They were devastated at the loss of their mentor.

As you might guess, the state championship game didn't go very well. For the first time in the history of the football program, the Knights were shut out. The Spartans beat them 42-0.

The next day, the headline on the local sports section read:

No Offense, Nun Taken

My Dad has always been a bit cool (plays in bands, hangs around with much younger guys etc) but at the weekend, on his 67th birthday, he FINALLY Dad joked me.

We were talking about the local rugby team and I said "They're playing a French team. I think it's Toulouse?"

He said "That's not very positive is it? Playing to lose."

"No wait," I said, checking the website, "They're playing Toulon!"

"Ohh, well in that case, it won't be a short game...."

I finally feel like a proper daughter.

My older brother texts my Dad and me today and says, "Let's go to Vegas tonight." Never one to be interested in gambling, my Dad suggests going to one of the nearby Indian Reservation casinos. The problem is, the local casinos have only card games - so my brother responds with, "Nah, no craps."

My Dad's response, "Then just take one before you go."

I chortled.

Tom Vanderbilt was this nice guy that loves to umpire the local little league games. He was good enough to make it to the major leagues. His first day umpiring behind the plate the first pitch hits the far bottom corner. Tom calls it a strike. The batter, 6'3" 275 lbs says, "you call that a strike again I'm going to pound you with this bat!" The next pitch hits the far bottom corner again. Tom calls it a ball. The catch, who is bigger than the batter turns around and yells, "you call that a ball again I'm going to pound you with this mask!" The very next pitch hits the very same spot. Tom yells, "two!" Both the batter and catcher yell, "two what?!" Tom says, "too close to call and I'm going back to the little leagues."

Every able lad within a few hundred miles wanted to play football for Central Catholic Fighting Knights.

Those who were familiar with the program, knew that the true heart and soul of the Knights football program was Sister Mary Margaret, an aged nun who would, in full habit, get out on the practice field and work on routes with the receivers, give pointers to the quarterbacks on their stances and releases, but most of all, love them like the second mother that she became to all of the boys in that program.

One year, on the eve of the state championship game, some evil malefactors broke into the convent and kidnapped Sister Mary Margaret. Everyone was stunned by the news, but none more so than the Knights of Central Catholic. They were devastated at the loss of their mentor.

As you might guess, the state championship game didn't go very well. For the first time in the history of the football program, the Knights were shut out. The Spartans beat them 42-0.

The next day, the headline on the local sports section read:

No Offense, Nun Taken