TryForce

If this blog had fans they'd no doubt wonder where I've been all summer.
The answer:
Bedding many anonymous women.
Anonymously.
That's not true; girls find me off-putting.
The truth is that after my 360 crapped out I ran into the woods.
I've been living there ever since.
Unfortunately, I'm as shitty at being feral as I am at bedding anonymous women.

I never finish games.
Never.
No matter how shitty a Danielle Steel book is, I'll finish that.
But not so for my other true passion.
Though I've played ever so many.
Like Maui Mallard in Cold Shadow, for example.
And that's part of the problem.
I never finish a game because another one always comes flitting by.
Then I can't resist switching titles.
Besides decreasing my sex drive and increasing my irritability, gaming has whittled my will down quite a bit over the years.
Oh sure, there's exceptions.
The Grand Wizards I have played through.
Resident Evil 4.
God of War.
That game where you get a job and buy refrigerators.
But the ratio of games I have sampled to those I have completed is embarrassing.
I frequently resolve to force myself into playing a game til its completion.
But there's that issue of will I brought up earlier...

A Boy and his Blog

Now here's a game in desperate need of a sequel.
I remember playing this when I was particularly young.
I didn't really grasp it at the time.
I just enjoyed feeding the blob jelly beans and making it turn into stuff.
Ever have a popcorn-flavoured jelly bean?
They're disgusting.
I ate one once and very nearly vomitted.
A less fond memory.

Now if only we could get someone to tackle Road Rash...

PO'd

Rockstar's always gotta spike the punch.
I mean, I love 'em. I love 'em all.
In fact, I've been photographing Rupert Humphries in the shower for quite some time.
Sifting through his garbage, that sort of thing.
But "The Ballad of Gay Tony"?
Activist groups are going to be hurling burning crosses onto the design team's lawns.
Except for the guys who live in condos.
I don't know what they'll do with them.
But they'll figure it out; they're activists.
They're flawless.
And if you're the one guy who isn't convinced that GTA is our whipping boy, just remember:
No one gave a shit when it was Big Gay Al.

My 360 seems to be repaired.
They tell me it's repaired.
I'm reserving hope until I pick it up.
I'll probably get hit by a bread truck whilst walking with it.
I'm so sick of that happening.

A Link to the Past

Ever peruse--between masturbation sessions--top 100 lists?
And when you do, you end up glimpsing a game that has been completely pushed out of your mind?
Due to retail employment and/or bong hits?
Here's a personal one, spotted on this list.



I even played it on the 3D0.
Yeah. I'm that guy.
Take the padlocks off of whatever cabinet you house your classics in.
Dust one off, blow in it, and play it.
For your well-being and everyone else's.

Speaking of, I managed to find a copy of Blackthorne yesterday.
The gaming equivelant to receiving felatio for the first time.
It was bittersweet though because I was dropping my 360 off to get fixed.
If it can be fixed by the local witchdoctors.
The Microsoft peons-
who are being manacled, whipped, and tormented as I write this-
could fix it, but my problem isn't the favourite E74 error.
Like the last time my Xbox was fucked.
So they're not covering it.
And the witchdoctors probably won't fix it.
Because fortune's not my thing.
Agony is.
All the same, sacrifice a chicken on my behalf, would you?
Or a goat*.

How did that meeting even go down?
I wish I'd been there.
"...and then we'll remove the innards, and stuff the carcass with falafel."
"I see. And were you planning to have staff on-hand to serve the falafel?"
"No, we thought we'd just stick a spoon in there and let people serve themselves."
"Very good. Now, where are we going to put the table for the drinks?"

*I linked this site in particular so you could check out the wench in the photo.
Two posts in and I'm showing you a nipple already.

edit: Could you imagine Return Fire over Xbox Live?
And they think Battlefield is a good seller...

New Game

In the beginning I wasn't allowed to play the Nintendo.
My brothers split their money and purchased one in Maine.
It's the only useful thing I've seen come out of there-
well, that and Cujo-
I spent my money on a teddy bear.
Don't hold it against me; I was four at the time.
If I cried enough, mom would make them let me play 'til game over.
I'd always pick Double Dragon.
But then, I'd only ever get as far as the bridge in the woods in level 3
before I'd have to surrender the controller.
Returning to my miserable books.
But oh man, would I watch...
See me now, age 6.
"Who's breathin' on my neck!"
My brother's friend Russell would shout.
"Paul, go away!" they'd all shout.
Fuckers.
My therapist tells me not to dwell on it.
I would say nothing, but watch their every move as they blasted the shit out of the medusa heads in Jackal.
Eventually they'd have to pause it, and Russell would say, "Paul, go piss!"
Cause I'd be writhing, unable to peel my eyes away.
Russell probably saved me from a few bladder infections.
He's married now. Poor fucker.
This blog isn't full of insider information.
I'm not giving reviews so that pock-marked hard-ons can shit all over them.
It's not some goddamned retro throwback (cause retro's so trendy now).
It's pulp for all others who couldn't take their eyes away.
And still can't.
From one writher to another.

eDit: It wasn't until doing this post that I realized how terrifying real-life jackals are.