Alright, I'm going to be doing this stream of consciousness, as I listen to it. Even with all my anger, I'm not strong enough in the Metal to overcome the horror of "My Immortal" in text form. So I'm suffering through the dramatic readings of it. I hope to god this thing isn't more than forty chapters. And yet, I somehow think it mihgt. Only half-way through chapter 2, and the writer, henceforth pronounced "she", or "the Dark One", or something of the type and OH MY GOD I JUST DIED HEARING THIS LAST EXCHANGE BETWEEN HER AND DRACO MALFOY (cause it's a fanfic, people!) THAT MAKES ME WANT TO KILL MYSLEF. Anyway, back on topic, she's got at least 50 horrific misspellings and she's taken asides to describe her clothes and makeup. Slit wrists, really? Apparently, Goths drink human blood.
(Oh, quick note of aside-yness: I am not a Goth, but I am aware of what they are. I like them more than Emos anyway. They do not shop at Hot Topic, or listen to Good Charlotte or Marilyn Manson, or care about anybodies' opinion [which is why we should leave them the fuck alone and concentrate on fighting the scuorge of both our existnecs, Emos])
Car has changed TYPE!
Going to have an aside to explain what the fuck is going on, huh bitch? Good plan. Why is she spelling evything Goff? And oh crhist, now the porn has started. Dumbledore just asked "wat the hell r u doin u motherfukkers?"
My soul is dying. I can FUCKING FEEL IT WITHERING!
Also I like Harry Potter: pointing out: Slytherin's dorm is in the dungeons. Dumbledore's office is on the fifth floor. (And fuck off if you say HP is bullshit, you uncultured cunts. It's sodding BRILLIANT.)
BLOOOOOOOD.
Slamming my fukking brain against computre right now.
Haryy Poter is now caledd Vampier. Evretnihg is becomnig disjnoited.
Mary Sue FOR THE WIN! GOD MODE SUE! GOD MODE SUE WILL SEE US TOWARD THE LIGHT!
Adverbs will kill me. Oh please, bitch. You get all pudrsih about acutally saynig penis and pussy after you pull out dis ovver shyt? Guy doing dramtaic reading is breaknig down wif laguhetr. Hermione's real name is Hermione's real name is Hermione's real name is *SLAP* Hermione Smith, and she's really a Stanasit vamprie.
God let this be wirtetn by a porfsseional troll.
"Vlodemort gave me a gun". Vlodemort has telekinesis, and spaeks wif thees and thous and I'm glitching bang bang rather watch babies eat eachother nytng but this crycrycrycrycry.
She actually has to tell us what the fukk shes thinking on the plot. Draco is silting his rits. And also had a gay filng wif Harry and everyone es a vampire. ENOUGH ASIDES WITH THE PLOT TO THE DISBELIEVING AUDIENCE BITCH. "See is ths chptr is shrupid!" YES PLEASE COMMIT SUICIDE SO THIS DAMN SOTRY STOPS. Loopin and Snap are apparently masticating to her taking a bath. "Abra Kadabra" shouts Loopin. Hargrid is magical. She shoots everyone. Hargrid is a Stanasit. 50 Cent did a gothic song? Slightly confusing is a fucking udnrestaemnet.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH taking a break for a few minutes. Looking back at what I wrote, I'm seeing a lot of red lines. This thing has lowered my brain-power. Suddenly, I think that this might not have been the best idea. Sorry for the spelling errors, but I won't delete them because, hey, it's a visual reminder of the destructive power of this "story". Its like reading something written by one of my ex-girlfriends, who's name is Jillian Smith and she lives somewhere in Illinois and this is her twitter page. See? I am a merciful God-- I give you a face to direct your hate at.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Jeff Bridges Is Still Cool
Just went to go see Crazy Heart. It was a good movie, so this one won't be a very funny review. However, I would just like to say this right off the bat-- if I ever look that shitty when I hit 57, somebody just fuckin' shoot me, OK? I'm counting on you, people. Anyway, Jeff Bridges is an alcoholic country singer (truth in film), and NO, you malignant bastards, I don't mean the crappy pop-country. I mean the real shit, the blues and gospel-inspired country, the type that's like what would happen if Slayer was a bunch of cowboys.
Long story short, he meets the reporter of his dreams, the all-too-worldly and oh-so-hot-40-year-old who's name I can't goddamn remember because they said it once and she's not even that hot because she's played by Maggie Gyllenhaal (please don't hate me Maggie I love you), and spends half her screen time splayed out on Jeff Bridges' ("Otis" Bad Blake) massive old-man gut and she has a four-year-old that looks like he carries every disease known to man and the middle plays out like a more-positive Heavy Rain and oh my God this sentence is going on forever and I've forgotten where I'm going with this, but the point is that Maggie Gyllenhaal's character is the weakest point of the movie for me.
(Everything's becoming a little disjointed right now-- maybe I'm watching too much Zero Punctuation. No I will not add a hyperlink; Yahtzee can go fuck himself. Your asses are my audience.)
It's a good movie, with a great soundtrack, no butt-monkey characters that make you wanna kill yourself for hating them and being unable to do anything about it (them being works of fiction and all), and a great soundtrack (if you like real country, not that Tim McGraw shit).
Go see this movie or I swear to Cthulhu I will take vengeance upon you. I have stock on both Jeff and this movie on HSX.
Long story short, he meets the reporter of his dreams, the all-too-worldly and oh-so-hot-40-year-old who's name I can't goddamn remember because they said it once and she's not even that hot because she's played by Maggie Gyllenhaal (please don't hate me Maggie I love you), and spends half her screen time splayed out on Jeff Bridges' ("Otis" Bad Blake) massive old-man gut and she has a four-year-old that looks like he carries every disease known to man and the middle plays out like a more-positive Heavy Rain and oh my God this sentence is going on forever and I've forgotten where I'm going with this, but the point is that Maggie Gyllenhaal's character is the weakest point of the movie for me.
(Everything's becoming a little disjointed right now-- maybe I'm watching too much Zero Punctuation. No I will not add a hyperlink; Yahtzee can go fuck himself. Your asses are my audience.)
It's a good movie, with a great soundtrack, no butt-monkey characters that make you wanna kill yourself for hating them and being unable to do anything about it (them being works of fiction and all), and a great soundtrack (if you like real country, not that Tim McGraw shit).
Go see this movie or I swear to Cthulhu I will take vengeance upon you. I have stock on both Jeff and this movie on HSX.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Time to get CONTRAVERCIAL, people!
BIOSHOCK 2! That whooshing sound you just heard, reader, was the exultant cries of hundreds of 2K Marin fans at the mere subconscious mention of Bioshock 2. And there it is AGAIN! I will admit, Bioshock 2 got through even my cynical armor to my soft, nougaty core. Once again, the keyword is atmosphere. Or... is it?
Sadly, no. It's not.
In case you've been under a rock for the past several years, Bioshock 2 is a followup to the widely-acclaimed first game, from 2K Marin. In case you've had a life for the past 20 years, Bioshock was the "spiritual successor" (read: complete clone) of the Crystal Dragon Jesus that is System Shock 2, which is basically, the Matrix meets a God complex. Bioware is the same game, but now the really scary AI, SHODAN, is the really AWESOME magnificent bastard Andrew Ryan, and the Matrix part is a giant underwater city that was secretly built by a group of seditious artists. Hooray for original plots!
The sequel casts you as a Bid Daddy, who were in the first game, basically Pyramid Head from Silent Hill 2 in a steampunk deep-sea diving suit with a drill instead of a sword, who guard freaky little vampiric girls called Little Sisters, who drain the dead of blood, and do it all in a rather disturbingly perky, innocent way.
That was in the first game. Apparently, Big Daddies have suffered an immense drop in badassitude, because now every insane genetic aberration is banging down bulkheads to take a shot at you. Anyway, you, Delta (AKA Topside Johnny, deep-sea diver with Balls of Steel), must reconnect with your Little Sister, now all grown up and suffering from acute Alma-itis. (If you don't get it, play F.E.A.R., you uncultured toad) Mummy dearest is a psychologist gone wrong controlling the entire city like some kind of goddamn giant Manson family. And then there's Big Sister... Big Sister is always watching.
All that sounds incredibly atmospheric and scary, right? Wrong. The tension from the first game? Gone. The idea that the entire world has fallen apart and you've come just in time to be eaten by the wolves gnawing at the corpses? Gone. The wrist-tattoos? Gone. No horror, no messages scrawled on walls in probably-human blood beyond the repeated-so-often-it-got-annoying "We will be reborn in the Ocean".
It's still a great shooter, and the fact that you can dual-wield your giant .50-cal machine gun and still have a hand left over to use your psychic flamethrower (yes, it's actually a flamethrower) to cook gribblies like Will Smith stopping an alien invasion makes it all the better. The problem is, we have thousands of good, solid FPS's. I have at least 10 of them right in front of me. What made Bioshock great was the fact that it was scary. Atmosphere is gone, and what made Rapture Rapture went with it. Good, but not great. Now, would you kindly...
Sadly, no. It's not.
In case you've been under a rock for the past several years, Bioshock 2 is a followup to the widely-acclaimed first game, from 2K Marin. In case you've had a life for the past 20 years, Bioshock was the "spiritual successor" (read: complete clone) of the Crystal Dragon Jesus that is System Shock 2, which is basically, the Matrix meets a God complex. Bioware is the same game, but now the really scary AI, SHODAN, is the really AWESOME magnificent bastard Andrew Ryan, and the Matrix part is a giant underwater city that was secretly built by a group of seditious artists. Hooray for original plots!
The sequel casts you as a Bid Daddy, who were in the first game, basically Pyramid Head from Silent Hill 2 in a steampunk deep-sea diving suit with a drill instead of a sword, who guard freaky little vampiric girls called Little Sisters, who drain the dead of blood, and do it all in a rather disturbingly perky, innocent way.
That was in the first game. Apparently, Big Daddies have suffered an immense drop in badassitude, because now every insane genetic aberration is banging down bulkheads to take a shot at you. Anyway, you, Delta (AKA Topside Johnny, deep-sea diver with Balls of Steel), must reconnect with your Little Sister, now all grown up and suffering from acute Alma-itis. (If you don't get it, play F.E.A.R., you uncultured toad) Mummy dearest is a psychologist gone wrong controlling the entire city like some kind of goddamn giant Manson family. And then there's Big Sister... Big Sister is always watching.
All that sounds incredibly atmospheric and scary, right? Wrong. The tension from the first game? Gone. The idea that the entire world has fallen apart and you've come just in time to be eaten by the wolves gnawing at the corpses? Gone. The wrist-tattoos? Gone. No horror, no messages scrawled on walls in probably-human blood beyond the repeated-so-often-it-got-annoying "We will be reborn in the Ocean".
It's still a great shooter, and the fact that you can dual-wield your giant .50-cal machine gun and still have a hand left over to use your psychic flamethrower (yes, it's actually a flamethrower) to cook gribblies like Will Smith stopping an alien invasion makes it all the better. The problem is, we have thousands of good, solid FPS's. I have at least 10 of them right in front of me. What made Bioshock great was the fact that it was scary. Atmosphere is gone, and what made Rapture Rapture went with it. Good, but not great. Now, would you kindly...
Welcome!
Alrighty, so I'll be blunt. This is my first real blog. I don't expect this to get many followers. But what the hell, right?
I guess I should start off by reviewing something, since that's what this blog will (ideally) be about. Looking over my collection of 360 games (and I own both a PS3 and 360, so back off, Microsoft/Sony fanboys), I see very little that sucks... Oh, wait--. Damn. WET.
Well, alright. Let's rip it a new hole.
Now, WET has been out for a long time. Maybe the fact that it was ten bucks at Gamestop should have been a red flag. Or the fact that I've heard the phrases "intensely unlikeable" and "unfinished hackjob" and "what the hell, didn't these people make Oblivion and Fallout 3" thrown about. Or that my friend cringed visibly when I mentioned it. But I pressed on, blindly faithful that Bethesda could climb lovingly over the corpses of the Vault-Boy and Maiik the Liar to bring us the full, Tarantino/Rodriguez-fueled bloodfest grindhouse game.
Semi-whoops.
As I stuck the game in, I was immediately confronted by the fact that I didn't give two tugs of a dead dog's cock about the story. Well, this being a grindhouse game, I thought that was a given. But noooo. Bethesda, trying to distance themselves as much as possible from their former games, perhaps, one assumes, due to a spontaneous development of an allergy to success and acclaim, has created a really... bad, I guess, but that doesn't quite do it justice, story. "Intensely unlikable" really can't begin to describe the main character, Rubi Malone, voiced by I don't give a shit who because she sounds like an Americanized Claudia Black (Sorry Claudia, please don't kill me). Basically, if you've seen a 70's action movie, you've seen this, just this lacks the awesome.
Gameplay-wise, I found another dead rat in my shoe. It seems a platformer, drunk and depressed, shacked up with Max Payne, got preggo, and gave birth to an FAS-baby combining the worst parts of those two things. The father didn't wait around, either, because this game lacks any of it's father's GOOD. Shooting is overly-easy, and it feels so insultingly easy I honestly thought that I was going to get a free ice cream cone to make up for the lack of gameplay. Or at least a gratuity shot of Rubi. But once again, Bethesda slapped me in the face, sternly said no, and whipped me back into licking its stilletos. And now I've lost my train of thought.
If I had to summarize this game in one sentence, it's this: 'stylized' can only carry you so far; at some point, gamers are going to demand actual gameplay, dicky demanding bastards that they all are. WET: piss off, skip it.
I guess I should start off by reviewing something, since that's what this blog will (ideally) be about. Looking over my collection of 360 games (and I own both a PS3 and 360, so back off, Microsoft/Sony fanboys), I see very little that sucks... Oh, wait--. Damn. WET.
Well, alright. Let's rip it a new hole.
Now, WET has been out for a long time. Maybe the fact that it was ten bucks at Gamestop should have been a red flag. Or the fact that I've heard the phrases "intensely unlikeable" and "unfinished hackjob" and "what the hell, didn't these people make Oblivion and Fallout 3" thrown about. Or that my friend cringed visibly when I mentioned it. But I pressed on, blindly faithful that Bethesda could climb lovingly over the corpses of the Vault-Boy and Maiik the Liar to bring us the full, Tarantino/Rodriguez-fueled bloodfest grindhouse game.
Semi-whoops.
As I stuck the game in, I was immediately confronted by the fact that I didn't give two tugs of a dead dog's cock about the story. Well, this being a grindhouse game, I thought that was a given. But noooo. Bethesda, trying to distance themselves as much as possible from their former games, perhaps, one assumes, due to a spontaneous development of an allergy to success and acclaim, has created a really... bad, I guess, but that doesn't quite do it justice, story. "Intensely unlikable" really can't begin to describe the main character, Rubi Malone, voiced by I don't give a shit who because she sounds like an Americanized Claudia Black (Sorry Claudia, please don't kill me). Basically, if you've seen a 70's action movie, you've seen this, just this lacks the awesome.
Gameplay-wise, I found another dead rat in my shoe. It seems a platformer, drunk and depressed, shacked up with Max Payne, got preggo, and gave birth to an FAS-baby combining the worst parts of those two things. The father didn't wait around, either, because this game lacks any of it's father's GOOD. Shooting is overly-easy, and it feels so insultingly easy I honestly thought that I was going to get a free ice cream cone to make up for the lack of gameplay. Or at least a gratuity shot of Rubi. But once again, Bethesda slapped me in the face, sternly said no, and whipped me back into licking its stilletos. And now I've lost my train of thought.
If I had to summarize this game in one sentence, it's this: 'stylized' can only carry you so far; at some point, gamers are going to demand actual gameplay, dicky demanding bastards that they all are. WET: piss off, skip it.
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