#2. Subway and Their Short Footlongs
Sub sandwiches generally come in three sizes: 6 inches, for if you don't want to overstuff yourself; 1 foot, for if you want to feel full and satisfied for the many hours ahead; and "whale dick," for parties. Those exact three sizes and nothing more or less, with the foot-long being the standard size. Subway likes to claim that their subs are a foot long, because they've taken the independent words "foot" and "long" and, through billions of dollars of R&D, fused the words together into "Footlong," a word that describes not only the length of their sandwiches but the entire concept of a sub sandwich itself. They've proclaimed this fact -- this fact about how these Footlongs are, indeed, 12 inches of sandwich -- through a jihad of a commercial jingle that's only made worse by the professional athletes who sing the tune with all the enthusiasm of people who really hope no one ever watches these commercials.
So, if there's one thing we know for certain about the Earth and life and the universe, we know -- now and forever -- that Subway sandwiches are one foot in length.
Some guys from Australia measured a bunch of Subway Footlongs and found them to be only 11 inches. Two guys from New Jersey went to 17 different Subway locations and every sandwich they measured fell well short of the promised 12-inch mark. Subway eventually apologized for the shortness of their sandwiches, but not before trying to use one of the most pathetic semantic arguments you'll ever hear: they said that when they use the term "Footlong" it's "not intended to be a measurement of length," and that "Subway Footlong" is just a registered trademark.
People used their hands in commercials to measure the size of their fucking sandwiches!
Subway, you apologized for short-changing us with the bread. Great. Wonderful. Don't do it again. Blah blah blah. But you seem to have glossed over the part where you tried to convince humanity that the claim of a Footlong being a foot long should not be taken literally. Like we should all know it was just a joke; you were only kidding. Kind of like when I'm really hungry and I say, "I could eat a horse." I'm not going to eat a whole fucking horse. That's crazy. But apparently, I should also think it's insane to believe dough can be stretched beyond 11 inches. Trying to convince people the sole promise you've made to them is nothing more than a corporate slogan is a much worse offense than cutting out an inch of bread. For a moment, you thought the sandwich-eating peoples of the world were so stupid that they'd accept some shit pulled out of your ass as a valid explanation.
#1. The Guy Responsible for the Water Temple in Zelda: Ocarina of Time
The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time is widely considered to be one of the greatest, if not the greatest, video games ever made. I'm inclined to agree. It's nearly flawless in every respect, except for one: the goddamned Water Temple.
I played Ocarina of Time three times on the Nintendo 64 and haven't played it since. Looking back at my time playing Ocarina's Water Temple, all I remember is an angry, wadded fist of white-hot rage. No specific moments of trouble or annoyance -- just the pure, glowing essence of burning anger. I can look back and see the Deku Tree just fine. I can see the Spirit Temple with full clarity. But when I search the recesses of my mind for files detailing my time with the Water Temple, all I get is pictures of Sauron's eye from Lord of the Rings and old-timey newsreel footage of World War II bombing raids.
New Line Cinema
Oh, yeah! I remember that part!
For a while, I believed I was the only one who felt this way about the Water Temple. Over time, I met more and more people for whom the Water Temple was the first time they contemplated suicide over an inability to complete a task in a video game. So many people out there in the world hated the Water Temple that the game's director, Eiji Aonuma, apologized for not designing it as well as he could have.
Perhaps it's out of a childish resentment, but that apology cannot be accepted. Yes, Ocarina of Time was still incredible in spite of that one nightmare of a level -- a level in which using the wrong key on the wrong door could permanently fuck your progress, and needing to constantly swap your gear from your inventory to the button scheme all but ruined the rhythm the game so patiently and beautifully established, and having to constantly raise and lower the level of the water throughout the temple was an overly confusing mechanic that turned a game about an adventure through a magical land into something that felt like math homework. It's an ugly pock mark on an otherwise beautiful face. In my mind, the game is a 10, but a hesitant 10. Because, for one dungeon, everything great about the game was put away and replaced with tedium.
Completing the Water Temple has a lot in common with drowning.
There's a reason I don't remember the details of that level: I don't want to remember them. That's something a Zelda game should never do.
For more from Luis, check out Dog Thong to iPaw: 15 Pet Products We Can't Believe Exist and 4 Ridiculously Obsessive 'Star Wars' Fan Tributes Ever.