Zen and the Art of Picking Sand Out of One’s Ass

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Although I cry every time Bambi's mom gets shot and my parents named me Blair (just as The Facts of Life was at the height of it's popularity), I am, in the scientific definition of the word, a "guy."  I enjoy guy things like burping, silently judging women and overeating to the point of physical discomfort. Oh yeah, and FREAKIN' DUNE BUGGY RACING! And that's why a few days ago was the epitome of awesomeness for yours truly. 

In honor of the upcoming release of MotorStorm -- by my calculations, only one of two reasons to buy the $600 paperweight -- Sony flew a gaggle of games journalists (and I use the term "journalist" very, very loosely in reference to myself) out to the Mojave Desert for a little diesel-fueled, environment destroying fun in the sun. 

Peep my pics, and check out the game on March 6th...it's effin' RAD.

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MotorStorm's U.S. producer, Felice Standifer, waxes philosophic

about the game's kick-ass soundtrack, the perils of driving 18-wheelers

through canyons and how much it's gonna cost to dry-clean the sand out

of her mink pelt.

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"Hello. My name is Mr. Sadism and I'll be your instructor for

today's lesson in heart attack-inducing speeds and bone-jarring bump

jumping."

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The "after" picture.  As evidenced by the look on my face, I was so frightened that I can no longer have children.