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Friday 22nd August
This might be about as exctiting as a lemon-scented budgie wipe, but i'm pondering adding some stuff to vaguenet.
I miss people calling me rude names and having emotional breakdowns about it.
I miss people shouting about how they got there first.
I miss being offered a bigger penis thirty thousand times in one day.
I miss the comments sections. I'm bringing them back.
I'm looking at installing wordpress and not having to figure out how to code every tiny thing by myself all the time.
yes, i might put someone else's code onto this site.
and may god have mercy on my soul
Now, where's that budgie?
Wednesday 20th August
Crohn's disease does strange and funny things to your body.
As does influenza.
Of course the medication for the Crohns being an immuno-suppressant then i'm much more likely to get influenza or other such infections.
And at the minute, both are playing up inside my body and having a ultimate fighting championship cage match with spiky things and goop inside of my body.
I should be arising from the dead soon enough, but for now, don't stand behind me.
Love and appreciation would be nice though.
Tuesday 12th August
I have a friend that I talk to on a regular basis
This friend and I argue. A lot.
It could be about anything, but it's generally about video games. Most recently we've been punching each other in the face over the concept of collections and purchasing games for them.
Now she believes that I'm a tasteless pennypincher that would buy any old shit providing that it was cheap enough.
I believe that she's a mindless sheep that would buy any old shit providing some reviewer described it as "omg soooo awwsum, bestest game evarrr!!!!!" which to my mind isn't the most sterling credentials.
And although she'll object to me describing her as a sheep, I'll be man enough to admit that there's a microscopic bit of truth to the assertion.
Which led me on to examining my criteria for purchasing games. See, as I might have mentioned already, I own a few games.
And by that I mean a few hundred.
If you were to name a home games console, it's 95% chance I've got at least one.
If you were to name a game for that console, it's probably 50% chance I've got it. At least if there was a British release. I don't have many import games. That's going a bit too far for now.
So until I start getting paid to play games or people start sending me them for free, then I've got to be careful as to how much I spend on them thus bringing me to my categories. And each game on the shelf will fit into one of these.
That's my standpoint. It's category 4 that disappoints just as often as it delights, but I've found some really good stuff in there too.
Category 5 is a joy to behold because in amongst the piles of outrageous shite the only way to go is up. When you know a game is going to be absolutely atrocious, then any part of it can be unintentionally hilarious. A10MW is so funny in it's rampant bigotry and dire programming that you can go back to it again and again. I might come back to that for you sometime.
But for now, instead of calling me a cheap bastard, why not look at the pre-owned section and pick up two great games that are slightly older for the same price as the brand new one in your hand?
Oh, and to she that I argue with …. Baaaaaa
Monday 11th August
The dead have risen. I know because they're staring at me. A hundred of them all in a huge circle staring right at me.
Though in all fairness that's probably something to do with the bloated corpse at my feet with a carving knife embedded in it's skull.
Which I placed there.
Social norms were never my strong point.
All of them suddenly rush for me, so I do the only thing I can think of.
And after I do that I pull out the carving knife and go honest-to-god-batshit-crazy in a killing frenzy of passion and fever with flesh and bodyparts flying everywhere. I'm a tazmanian devil with a single blade using every ninja move of death spinning round and chopping the shit out of those brain-dead morons.
This is when I must point out that I actually mean the risen dead, or zombies as opposed to any metaphor for the brain-dead masses that regularly inhabit the shopping centres of the world on a Saturday afternoon.
Now, it occurs to me that obviously they'll all head my way because of the monumentally huge and tasty amount of brain matter I keep contained within my cerebral cavity. I mean, if the brain of your average person is a tasty treat for the undead then the lean, mean thinking machine that I keep up top must be like a feast of Wagnerian proportions. So obviously I'm flattered, but still trying to see a way out of this.
I suppose I should explain why I'm in this sort of mess.
I'm not a fan of zombie movies. Never have been. They fit into the category of horror and I don't like horror. I've never seen the entertainment value in scaring myself. And if you're not scared then what's the point of horror? I don't get it, but then again, as I might have mentioned, I'm not a fan of horror.
But then you get the birth of a game called Dead Rising for the Xbox 360. I've wanted to play Dead Rising since I first heard about it's existence. The possibility of being trapped in a mall facing the hordes of endless undead with weapons made from absolutely anything that you can pick up? Sign me up, I'm there.
Perhaps it's because I hate so much of humanity that being able to go toe to toe with so many of them while being armed smells like Christmas and free-puppy day all wrapped into one. But there's something wrong with that since I also tried Rockstar's State of Emergency and that was utter shit. Perhaps this time it's because the enemy is exactly how I visualise mankind. As lurching brainless, well, zombies to be precise.
So the premise is simple, mall full of zombies, three days, get in get out, do some missions. Fine. I can live with that. And so I paid my entry fee at the front desk, went through the turnstile and entered the world of zombies, and I have to say it doesn't disappoint.
After the long introduction it fairly gives you a chocolate box of options, and by options I mean a-huge-selection-of-bludgeoning-instruments to blatter things to death with before you're faced by a zombie horde. You know that bit in Pulp Fiction where Bruce Willis is looking for a weapon? Well imagine that but on amphetamines and it's you doing it. Now try and stop smiling.
I found a bucket. A lovely metal bucket with which to swing into someone's head. Which I discarded when I found a two-by-four. A big honking piece of wood to make things go splat. Which I discarded when I found a shelving unit. A seven foot by seven foot metal shelving unit to swoosh into crowds of zombies at once. Which I discarded when I found a mannequin.
A shop dummy. A naked livesize female form with which to grip by the ankle and swing like a bat into the face of a moron. Sorry, I mean zombie. Woo-hoo! Does comedy get any better? Apparently yes, especially when the mannequin breaks and I'm left holding a severed leg and I'm beating people to death with the wet end!
Psycho heaven does not get better.
Or so I thought. See, after the first few hundred dead zombies, there's something you've got to hanker for. A lacking starts to gnaw at your soul. A greed if you will. As satisfying and lovely it is to splat heads you need one more thing to make it complete. And there, in the food court, it is. Like manna from heaven, like chocolate in a health food shop, like Sharon Osbourne committing suicide with a lawn mower… there it is. A carving knife. A cutting weapon.
Hark the herald, angels sing
We've had a lot of splattering, now it's time for slice and dice. Oh how the heavens opened and sang a chorus, oh how my cup runneth over. Now I have a weapon to fear and thusly doth I throw myself into the crowd of a hundred zombies and stick one justly in the head.
A hundred zombies came upon me and by the multitude did they drop, the laughter from my lungs was loud as I cut them down from all sides with but a lowly knife. Another hundred appeared from nowhere and with welcome arms did I greet them, albeit having something sharp and pointy at the end of one.
Exactly like a pack of howling zombies did they rush upon me and my right arm plunged the knife into the skull of the nearest and terribly, horribly, noisily did it go 'plink' and snapped into a thousand pieces.
The knife snapped.
Leaving me standing in the middle of a horde of starving zombies holding nothing more deadly than a coat-hanger, pondering when the last time I went to the toilet was.
Dead Rising is a phenomenal game, and best of all is that it is something new. In amongst all the weapons (and there are a few hundred lurking about) there's all sorts of strangeness to keep you amused, entertained and running for hours and hours at a time.
One of the best things that I found for a light bit of distraction is the costumes. You see, you're in a mall. Malls have clothes shops. Clothes shops sell clothes. Not that you'll be paying because there's nobody there to take your money, but it doesn't stop you from changing clothes.
I eventually settled on a nice white suit with a red tie and sunglasses as my choice garments. But that was after I explored all the possibilities and humour of the ladieswear shops. Though I have to admit that my first discovery of the clothes changing availability was in a children's wear shop and then I couldn't find a way of changing back. I was stuck looking like a paedophile for hours wearing too-tight t-shirt and shorts with a lovely teddy bear embroidered on them.
Though that helped add to the horror of the situation.
One thing that is a drawback though is all of the other people. You think you've escaped into a violent fantasyland and all of a sudden you're dragged back to reality with people (and by this I mean breathing living real-not-zombie people) whining and hassling you with repeated unreasonable demands like "Help" or "Stop hitting me" or "Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough".
See, other survivors in the mall fall into two groups, the boring and the deadly. The boring spend their time hiding in cardboard boxes waiting for you to find them and then demand rescuing. Which is irritating enough if they didn't throw themselves meaningfully into the nearest large crowd of zombies at the first opportunity.
But it's alright because you can give them a weapon to defend themselves with. Just whatever you do, never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever …. Ever ever ever ever give them a gun. The first thing they'll do is to scream at the nearest wall and then "accidentally" shoot you in the head. And then you all die. Bastards.
The other sort of survivors are the psychopaths. People who see the oncoming apocalypse as the perfect opportunity to act like a prick. Which comes as a bit of a shock when you first meet one. There I was, happily jogging along slapping zombies in the face with my wood when out of nowhere a clown drops on my head and tries to decapitate me with a chainsaw. How unfair is that!
Of course, with all of this zombie killing getting done sometimes you need to relax, and find something else to do. Of which can you think of anything better than to try a bit of point-and-click style experimental cooking? Use-orange-juice-in-blender. Ta-da! Juice! Well that's nice. Use-severed-arm-in-frying-pan. Nothing. Use-bowling-ball-in-microwave. Nothing. Use-frying-pan-on-zombie's-face. Result! Burned zombie-face! Tasty.
My personal method of relaxing is to take the convertible out for a spin. Now you might think that driving through a mall might be tricky, but that's where you're wrong! You don't drive in the mall, you drive in the secret access tunnels under the mall. So secret are they that they're full of seventeen thousand zombies all packed in tight. The only way to get through is to drive over them. See the kill-counter at the top of the screen? (yes, there's a scoreboard of how many zombies you've killed) The one that's been ticking over gently since you started? Watch now as it goes into overdrive like a pinball readout on acid.
You can just hear the bones crunch, though watching them at 40mph is a touch trickier.
Finally, I have to tell you one beautiful addition they threw in just to make me smile. When you've finished, stay in your seats until after the credits finish rolling. You know what bonus extra they stuck on to the game if you get the right magic ending?
Dead Rising 2.
Yup. A whole sequel is hiding on the back of the disk with two more days of more gameplay, more stuff, new twists and all the rest, plus a real fucker of a bastard final challenge. If that's not value for money, then I don't know what is. And for those of you that don't know, it's soon to be out for the PS3.
Last one to the gun-shop's a big pussy.
Race you.
Tuesday 29th July
I had my dog put to sleep yesterday.
I can't think of anything I've done in the past decade, maybe in my life that was as stressful and traumatising than asking the vet to put my dog to sleep. And even now I'm filled with doubt and what-ifs.
Tanya had been my dog since 1995 when we picked her out from the rescue shelter early on in the year. There were a few puppies there but she was a tiny wee thing in a corner of her pen and though she was cute with big floppy ears and big paws she didn't come forward to say hello to any of the kids and prospective buyers like the other pups. She was being ignored by most and with her being quiet and shy, I decided I wanted her.
I found out why she didn't like people one day while I was getting changed and I changed my belt for another one. Tanya ran away whimpering and it was an hour before I could settle her again. I hated her previous owner at that point more than I knew it was possible to despise somebody, and it's probably a good thing I never knew who they were.
She was with the family ever since then and all of us loved her very much. For a family with a pattern for big dogs with a recognisable breed, we all loved my little mongrel doggie with no recognisable breed. I mean really, nobody ever had the faintest clue what sort of dogs were in her family tree, but I'd bet it had more than a couple of twisted branches.
I have a lot of regrets about Tanya. I never spent enough time with her, took her for walks often enough, gave her treats, got her groomed, even taking her to the vets was hit and miss, but I loved her and she loved me. Which is why it's so painful.
Her legs were going, her spine was crooked, her eyesight wasn't great and when the vet looked at her yesterday she told me that she had something neurological going on where she didn't really know where she was anymore. I say this in the desperate hope to find some justification or peace in what I did, but all I can think of is holding onto her and looking her in the eyes while she went and wondering if I did the right thing.
Turns out I do have feelings after all. Mostly regret.
Thursday 24th July
I discovered last night that Batman is either the most intelligent person in the world ever or the luckiest idiot in the course of known history.
Since I'll not have a word said against Batman then I'll discount the brain-damaged lottery winner from the equation. Though that would make a really cool comic. I shall name him The Mighty Frickspongler. Hmm, have to work on that.
Anyway, that leaves batman as being the most intelligent person on the planet. I mean, so smart that he could kick Stephen Hawking's arse at a "Figuring out the Universe" contest and then go on to calling Einstein a thicky no-brain.
I bet you're wondering how I discovered this. Well I was watching an episode of Batman from 1967. Yes, that's over forty years ago, but does this make Batman any less valid?
Of course not.
Anyway, he was facing the cunning genius of the Riddler. And by cunning genius I mean brain-dead retardation of a syphalitic monkey who's just gotten excited over a tickle-me elmo doll. I mean come on, here's a man who plans crimes, proves that he can get away cleanly but still has to leave notes indicating where he'll be or what he'll do next.
I mean really, whatever happened to leaving a little note saying "Riddler was here?" or a cool insignia, like a white glove like that dude from that film … you remember, it was quite cool, and it had the bloke with the hair and that coat thingy. Oh google it, you'll find it eventually.
Anyway, he was facing the cunning genius of the Riddler. Now over the course of the adventure the Riddler had left four clues. I don't remember what they were, other than the fact that they were shit, and I don't even remember what the answers specifically were except for the last. But let's say for the sake of adventure that the four answers were Cheese, Opals, Eggs and Man.
Cheese, Opals, Eggs and Man.
Yep. That's the final riddle.
Bit of a stumper if you ask me.
But not to Batman, who I have previously revealed is indeed smarter than a ten year old, even if the entire class was made up of Mozart, Stephenson, Newton, Brunel, Tesla and me.
No, Batman tackled the puzzle thus, granted, with the help of Robin and the Bat-Computer.
Cheese starts with C.
C is the third letter of the alphabet.
So C = 3.
Opals = O = 15, Eggs = E = 5 and Man makes another 13 for the M.
3 + 15 + 5 + 13 = 36.
36 is the number of inches in a yard.
A yard is 3 feet.
What has three feet?
No man has three feet.
A-HA! Riddler MUST be at the (soon to be opened) NOMAN Jigsaw Puzzle Factory.
And fuck me, he was too.
OBVIOUSLY. Why didn't you think of that? Because you're not as smart as Batman, that's why.
Batman's a frigging genius. And not to be questioned.
Mind you, I'd have just looked in the phone book for newly-opened puzzle factories, or crossword book publishers, or large buildings in the shape of a question mark. But the way gotham city is laid out, there's millions of those sorts of places so I'd probably be at it for a while.
That's why we have Batman. Because the rest of us are dumb as mushy bananas.
And that was forty years ago. He's got to have gotten even smarter and more experienced since then. I'm seeing the film tomorrow. Don't spoil it for me.
Ooooo, while we're on the subject, I must tell you one detail that I thought was hilarious.
Batman, Act 3, scene 1.
Batman, Robin, Commissioner Gordon and Police Chief O'hara are stood in a park in broad daylight looking at an empty plinth.
Don't worry about why.
A bicycle courier rides up with a letter (another cunning riddle from the Riddler) and from his mouth comes a prophetic tale of how smart the average people in Gotham City actually are…
"Does one of you gentlemen go by the name of Batman?"
Now, let's examine the possibilities he's faced with here, and granted, none of the people thus mentioned is holding anything that could resemble a bat.
One. A doddering old geezer with white hair in a grey suit that looks like he's on a day trip out from the old-folks home and is looking at all the pretty sights in the park before he has to trundle back for his mashed potato and creamed corn.
Two. A wrinkled monkey in a police uniform with a squinty expression indicating that he's looking for the nearest toilet.
Three. One of Santa's colour-blind elves who's got lost on the way back to the north pole and has taken up a life of crime, judging from his serious looking shoes and his domino mask.
Four. The god-damned Batman. With bat-ears, bat-cowl and bat-cape, keys to the bat-mobile jangling from his bat-belt also containing the bat-rope, bat-gas, bat-viagra and bat-bazooka. Oh yes, and let's not forget the huge bat symbol on his chest.
Now, pretend you don't live in Gotham City where Batman is common knowledge and people see him driving around in his funky fire-breathing car all day every day and more to the point have never heard of batman … how do you miss the big fricking bat-symbol on his chest?
Maybe Batman's been sucking on the brains of everybody that lives in Gotham.
Maybe THAT's why he's so smart.
Wednesday 23rd July
You know what I hate?
Other people.
No, that's really true, I do hate almost everybody else on the planet. It's good, it's theraputic, and most of all, it feels right.
Now I was looking for something to write about today, having for myself a space to do some writing and a temperament suited to it, though lacking in a subject matter to fulfil.
My first thought was to open the dictionary at a random page and explain my philosophies about whatever subject first caught my eye from that page, be it bestiality, appelate law, cows or beanie babies.
(There's not a lot left after crumpet in my dictionary since the fire)
But then I realised that although whatever I write would be well-written, informative and possibly even amusing, it wouldn't be full of the bile and spite that you've come to expect from me.
Then I realised that I really don't care what you think of my writings, since you're more than likely one of the 98% of humanity that I hate.
So I decided to write about hate itself. Not antipathy, wrath, dislike or mild irritation, no, real burning and chemical hatred. And why it's so great.
Now there are three classifications of hate, the open, the comedic and the great.
The open hate is simply that, an open and deep loathing of a person to the extent that people feel it necessary to keep outside of a radius of five hundred yards at all times. They may engineer situations where the two parties are in close proximity, but soon realise that this is not a good idea.
Sample Greeting of Open Hate.
The comedic hate is one that is often used to disguise true hatred behind a mask of comedy so that object of the hatred is at all times unsure as to your true feelings and so might take your barbs and insults in a manner of light jocularity, thus approaching you as a friend. This is worthwhile for the continuation of hate that needs to be vented on a regular basis.
Sample Greeting of Comedic Hate.
The great hate is characterised by such a huge build-up of psychosomatic pressure that the object of the hate's head blows up before any in-depth interaction can occur. This is a very useful hate to posess.
Sample Greeting of Great Hate.
Things that I hate today.
Having to explain myself again. Having to listen to the same thing explained to me fully seven times over when I understood it the first time. Myspace. The Ting Tings. Big Brother. People who watch big brother. People who think that Big Brother is worth talking about. People who assume I know who is on Big Brother. People who are shocked that I don't know or care who is on Big Brother. Wife swap. Advert breaks. Rescheduling film crews who give you less than 14 hours to replan yourself. Shit film crews. The internet. Hackers. Myspace. Cigarette cravings. Chewing gum. Being skint. Petrol prices. Shoddy car maintenance. Big brother's little brother. Chat magazines. Mindless bimbettes. TV chefs. Arrogant authors. Shit puns. Bad puns. Puns. Cheaters who're too stupid to not get caught. Hoopy earrings. Deadlines. Commuting. Tomatoes. Pete Docherty, Surgeons and Jimmy Carr.
Right, that should be enough for now.
I'm off to blow some shit up with my brain.
Tuesday 15th July
Focus. That's what the problem is. I have a lot of drive, but sadly lacking in focus. Without a deadline or some such motivator then things can sadly get left to rot. Which sucks.
You see, it's not like I've got the attention span of a butterfly. Butterflies come in really weird colours, did I tell you I saw one that was red and purple in Cyprus, and it was HUGE! But it's more that I have such a broad range of things that I'm interested in that I don't know what to do next, and obviously while I'm not in a happy mood then I'm not going to be too creative.
I decide to write a book. Nice and simple. But the thing is I'm halfway through chapter two and though I carry the thing everywhere I go, putting pen to paper is a ridiculous task. And it's not like I can't, because you've seen what I can do with Captain Zipps Bestiary and the Bible of VAGUE roleplay. It's just it's quite hard with one long story to keep the flow going and so it grinds to a halt.
And then there's the website. Yes, this thing that you're reading right now. I want to carry on the comic. I want to introduce the databases. I want to put the comments system back in. I want to get the RPG gallery under way.
I want to follow up on the Denby Dale Pie again, I still keep getting e-mails about that, I think it deserves another attack, even though people are still calling me nuts about it.
I've also got plans for a really spiffy website thing, but my web skills keep deteriorating. I mean, I have this top-notch idea, too good to actually tell you about otherwise you'll steal it. But getting around to doing it is a right pain in the arse because it needs all of the above and more.
Let's not forget that all of this is in my free time away from work that I've got to do this in. You know, when I'm not playing video games, reading comics and books, working on the nationals, Game08 or away at the Viking shows or planning for the Viking shows.
So what was really helpful? Well it was birthday last week. And I got lots of lovely presents, thank you one and all for them. But I did get three books directly from my Amazon wish list. All three I put on there ages ago when I was just flicking through points of interest. All three were on making movies, shot by shot, on the cheap and so on. Is this a completely subtle hint? Is this what people think I should be doing?
So what's the problem? Oh yes, focus, that's the one. I've got to focus on something and buckle down to it. So what's it to be? More to the point, what would you most want to see as an actual output from the brain of the Big Bad Jon…
And that's just what I can think of right now, but before I can do any of that I need to sort out the box room and the loft, tidy away some stuff and learn to cook.
Didn't I mention I can't cook?
Must get around to learning that.Thursday 3rd July
Oblivion
Why is it that every single computer game that claims to be an RPG is always always always a fantasy thing, and pretty much Dungeons and Dragons. I mean really, where are the RPGs set in the old west? or in space? Or on the streets with the vampires … oh, there was that one. But other than that one, every single one has been a medieval world of fantasy. Which bores the shit out of me.
But nevermind says I. Everybody says this is the greatest video RPG ever made! It’s got sixty billion hours to it and an entire world to explore! You’ll love it.
Now here’s my problem. Well, my first problem. And I’m going to spoil the plot that happens in the first ten seconds of the game here. I’m sat in a jail cell. King Jean-luc Picard the First comes down to my cell to use the secret exit because theives and murderers have taken the castle. Apparently I look like a trusting enough soul and so I can come too if I like.
So here I am, walking down some steep stone stairs behind the king of the whole of the land looking at his bald patch and I’m NOT supposed to push him? What do you think I was in prison for, swearing at kittens? Of course I’m going to push the king. The guards didn’t like that. They have spiky weapons. I ended up dead.
Lesson One : Do not give into temptation too often.
OK. You’re in a dungeon, armed with a small stick. This is not an easy position to be in, so obviously it’s time to learn some shit. Pick on something much much smaller than you for a practise. Like that rat.
Lesson Two : Rats are considerably harder than you.
After an epic struggle, lots of health packs and as much magic and stamina as you have available, including the age old technique of waving weapons around and screaming, you now have one dead rat. What now? Loot the body?
Lesson Three : Dead rat corpses are only in possession of dead rat entrails.
Move on a few hours. You’ve learned to kill. So long as the enemy isn’t large, armed, threatening or (best-of-all) awake then you can kill things. You’ve not seen daylight in the past three years and the sack that you’re trying to haul out of there just won’t go any further. You’re carrying too many weapons, armour and loot.
Lesson Four : You can either wear clothes and armour or carry loot. Not Both. Your choice.
Daylight! Freedom! Sleep! Rest! And somewhere to sell the loot! Hit the town as the trimphant naked warrior. This is not a good idea. Go and get pants and THEN hit town as the triumphant nearly naked warrior. Try talking to people to find my way around town.
Lesson Five : Nobody likes you. See the beggar man that stinks of poo? Yes, even he hates you.
Couldn’t find a bed for the night. Slept on street. Went to go find the open shops to sell my hard earned loot. Every door has an interesting challenge. They’re all locked, but that’s okay because I’ll just go straight into lockpicking mode. And for an encore I’ll scare people just by walking around the streets half naked.
Lesson Six : Obeying the law is really hard. I mean really really hard.
Oh, and when the shops are open? You’ve not got the negotiating skills to get a fair price for anything you’ve looted or earned. Not even half a fair price. In fact, you’re complete toss at haggling.
Lesson Seven : Your bag full of rubies might just buy you a pint of ale. But don’t count on it.
And then I got arrested and thrown in jail.
Which was a little reminiscent of somewhere.
I wonder where.
Lesson Eight : Life Sucks. Have a Biscuit.
Wednesday 2nd July
Bioshock
I swear to god this is one of the creepiest games I have ever played in my life. It’s not a survival horror game**, it’s an adventure, but it is hellishly creepy.
** SIDE NOTE ABOUT SURVIVAL HORROR ** Now I’m not a big fan of survival horror games, pretty much because I suck at them. I seemingly can’t kill one zombie in an unlit room with half a matchstick that’s been dipped in jelly while it’s running at me and screaming. I’m also not sure why there’s not an early option in these games for “running for the fucking hills”. So I don’t play them very often. Not the most interesting side note, but needed saying **
The story goes like this. After a plane crash you end up in an underwater city called Rapture. In this utopian art-deco city people could get away from the outside world and all of their troubles and live in peace and harmony. Of course somebody’s trying to play god and they start playing with genetic manipulation. Which goes wrong. And now everybody’s dead, a mutant, a psychopath or all of the above.
The entire game is beautiful to see and is decorated like a 1920’s dream of wrought iron, velveteen, marble and steampunk technologies. I once stopped to view a whale swimming above my head as I went through a glass corridor (underwater city, don’t forget) and was so entranced I forgot I was running for my life at the time. I died, but it was still a pretty sight.
I think the creepiness (who was one of the unspoken, exiled family Ness) comes more from the soundtrack than the visual clues. Granted, when faces with an open door into the darkness, you do look around for any other direction to head into before going into the dark, slowly. But when you hear a scratchy old record in the distance in the darkness playing “Somewhere, Beyond the sea” you’ll do pretty much anything else including shooting yourself in the head before walking that path.
But mainly you’ve got the cast. And I’m just not talking the struggles between Atlas and Andrew Ryan played out in tape and tannoy throughout the city. Nor about the doctors and technicians and workers who left audio diaries years before that you pick up. Not even the mutants and their screaming and death-dealing abilities not even those ones in bunny hats that dissapear. Not even Sander Cohen himself who is possibly the creepiest man ever.
No, you know whom of I speak if you’ve played it. It’s the Big Daddies and Little Sisters. As you explore Rapture, albeit slowly and with a lot of hiding in shadows, you’ll eventually run across a Big Daddy. They’re twice as big as you, they’re armoured, they even have one hand that’s an industrial screw and another hand that’s a grenade launcher. And they don’t care about you. Literally. I once met one on the other side of a door I was going through and wet myself. It shoved me out of the way and kept on walking.
What is of interest to me though is the little girl walking behind him. You know, the one with the red glowing eyes… I’ve got to capture/rescue/kill/harvest/something her. But she’s with the Big Daddy. Go on, try touching her. Big Daddy is very interested in you now. And he’s quicker than you too.
Go on, I dare you.
Would you kindly see what you can do the thing while only holding a wrench?
There’s something very very creepy that in all seriousness has you holding a six year old girl and asks you if you want to rescue or kill her. Not just once, but twenty or thirty times in the game. See how your soul holds up.
Somewhere…. Beyond the sea … Somewhere waiting for me …..
Tuesday 1st July
Forza Motorsport 2 and Project Gotham Racing 3
While I’m on the subject of driving games, I might as well bring up these two little beauties. FM2 I got with the machine (which is rarely a good sign) and PGR3 I borrowed from a friend. And I’ve got a little something to say, not just about these games, but all hard core driving games.
I hate hard core racing games. I want guns, I want action and adventure, I want to be able to ram my opponents off the tracks and be able to laugh as they fall to a burning pit of hell in the Swiss Alps. I want my land of hope and glory and a bodycount, I want. … Oh yes, the point. I played Forza Motorsport 2 and Project Gotham Racing 3.
Wasn’t impressed.
Monday 30th June
December..
December was the last time I spoke to you about video games. Which might have led some of you to believe that I've lost interest somewhat in the playing of video games. This would be a mistaken belief for I am one of the worlds greatest gamers and anyone that says different is a liar.
For it is true. Why, in the past six months sine I last spoke to you I have played Prince of Persia Battles, Tingle's Rosie RupeeLand, Phoenix Wright III, Apollo Justice, Rocket Slime, Final Fantasy III, Bioshock, Oblivion, Mario galaxy, Dead rising, Guitar Hero III, Mario Party 8, Okami, Crackdown, Viva Pinata, Forza Motorsport, Project Gotham Racing 3, Grand Theft Auto IV and a few more. And I'm not talking a quick pick up and play… I'm talking a full on few hours at a time upto completing the game style wocking on them.
So I thought I'd share some thoughts on some games you should be playing. And some that you distinctly shouldn't. And some that I would quite happily spit upon.
Xbox 360.
For those of you that don't know, I got an Xbox 360 at Christmas. I've been playing it quite a bit since. And since I was a big fan of the ps2, I've been caught up in so many arguments with people about the 360 vs the PS3 that I no longer care. But I've got some good arguments whichever way you want to shout. Did you know that the 360 doesn't come with a wireless network adaptor?
Actually I'll tell you a story. I admit that I am too stupid to wire together a console. I'm clever enough to unwrap all the bits nicely, I'm smart enough to take off all the plastic protective covering. But after an hour even I had to admit that I couldn't put it together. Especially when the power cable is for a different model console.
I felt like Doc Brown at the end of Back to the Future. The two bits met, but I had a square peg and a round hole… if only I had a white wig and a lab coat then the analogy would be complete. Ish. Actually I do have a labcoat somewhere…
Grand Theft Auto IV
I'm not going to go into GTA4 right now, it's too big and I have much that I want to say. Mostly to do with killing pigeons, but there you go. Oh yes, and now I know the joy of being called a homosexual by Americans and Brits at the same time as I mow them all down in my bus. Online players are so eloquent with extensive vocabularies.
Wednesday 18th June
Life can be a touch stressful at times. I have a lot of responsibility and a lot of work to be done. So I did what any rational and forward thinking person would do. I left the country. Let people forage for themselves for a while … see how they like it having to use their own brain.
But I digress.
First stop on my world tour was Cyprus.
It was hot and sunny. I went with friends. I swam a lot and got sunburned. I stayed in a hotel that laid on a box of kittens for the guests.
Yes, kittens. You may now go ahhhh. There are 8 of them there.
Now I know that me having a good time is not something that you're overly caring about. Not unless I'm brutalising somebody in one way or another. So we'll skip Cyprus and move onto Norway.
I know you love to hear about my wacky adventures in Norway.
So what happened this year on the small island in a fjord in a cold country with no running water and no electricity…
Well, I crashed the tractor. There's only one vehicle on the island and I crashed it. When we touched down on the island I was given the keys to the only vehicle on the island to take all the heavy kit from the dock to the campsite. Within an hour I'd flipped it and managed to spill everything on the trailer all across the place. Didn't manage to make it explode though, so I'll have to try that again.
If anyone ever tells you that you don't get mosquitos in Norway, call them a fucking liar. Within 2 days every single one of the four billion midges and mosquitos on the island had decided that English flesh was the tastiest treat they'd had since time began. And after trying some of the tasty treats you can get in Norway it's understandable to have a taste for human flesh. I still have lumps on my arms, my legs, my shins, my hips and even my eyebrows. Do you know how itchy a mozzy bite on the eyebrow is?
Rocks. Rocks hurt. One night I went to sleep on an airbed and woke up on a rock. Granted, there was a little bit of plastic protecting my weak and fleshy body between me and the worlds most rocky surface, but my spine chose not to agree and started screaming. I would also like to express my thanks to the ground for being so sharp and pointy on my knees and the car windowframe for managing to twist my wrist. Many thanks, now I know what lots more pain feels like.
Cold, it was a touch cold. That is when it wasn't boiling hot. And then it rained. Which was nice, but the continuation of rain and then the wind. That wasn't very fun. And I was cold. Did I mention I was cold? It's a cold country is Norway. Definitely cold.
Oh, let's not forget the lack of fires. You see, on an island with no running water and no electricity, you kind of need a fire. You know, for heat and light and warmth and cooking. But no. Terror, abject terror by the Norwegians that we'd burn the island to the ground this year meant no fires. No flame of any description. No wood, no paper, no petrol. We had charcoal. Lots and lots of charcoal. Which is great for cooking on. But absolutely dog-pap for sitting around and singing camp-fire songs.
And on the way home we went on a big boat. And on the big boat there's a pool. And in the pool we had a swim. And while swimming one of my friends walloped me hard in the pods as he swam past. That hurt too. And one of the little girls came to give me a hug to comfort me. And when she swam away she kicked me in the nuts too.
I love going on holiday. It's so relaxing.