My karma ran over my dogma

There is a God, and he is laughing at me.

Just hours from one of the biggest releases of the year for me, a critical component in my Playstation 3 has unceremoniously failed, leaving me stranded with an irreparable, nonexchangeable machine, and little choice other than to place it in early retirement...


...as an exceptionally proficient, six hundred dollar doorstop.
The "critical component" at fault being, whatever selective and diabolical elven black magic that reads disc media upon insertion. Adding the delicious sting of unleaded soy sauce to the wound, is how the elven's timely send-off for my faithful roommate's permanent holiday occurred just moments before a glorious vessel bearing such saviors as Guitar Hero 3, the aforementioned R&C, Uncharted, Rock Band, and pretty much every other piece of software, long-awaited version update, and legitimate reason to own a goddamn $600 doorstop (which should handle multi-tasking as a functional gaming platform), was scheduled to make triumphant and historical landfall on my pitiful deserted island of irony starting today.

Early adopters always get screwed. Apple is living proof of this. But early adopters are not supposed to get screwed by a cactus butt-plug lubricated with Icy Hot, and dipped in wasabi. Granted,I'm fully aware of certain risks that come with embracing new technology, but they should never be associated with slipshod or rushed craftsmanship, of which there is no. Goddamn. Excuse.
This would be easier to stomach if such incidents were more isolated, but certain frustrated PSN threads are starting to suggest otherwise.

No, that acrid stench in your nostrils isn't the rectal destruction.
That would be the smell of more rotten Sony PR.

For a year, I've tenderly loved the hell out of the system's only flagship games: Resistance and Warhawk, along with a small handful of other downloadable titles, and patiently waited for November '07 when we were promised our ship. The time has finally come, and...yes.
This.

This deplorable, reprehensible, shit.

The very kind that's only funny when it's on somebody else's porch.
In a sack. And on fire.