We just want to enjoy our video games without compromising our ethics. So:
1 – Video Game “Journalists” Can No Longer Play Video Games
All too often, these corrupt sell-outs award a game a favourable review, simply because they like it. By separating the game from the reviewer, we’ll prevent these BIASES from forming.
2 – These “Writers” Won’t Be Allowed to Talk to Developers, Publishers, or PR
If they collude, they’ll be corrupt. Journalists should gather their information on upcoming games from Youtube trailers (ideally encoded at 480p, lest they start favouring RESOLUTIONS over GAMEPLAY) and the comments underneath. All other news shall be compiled from unimpeachable MS Paint flowcharts.
3 – These “Journalists” Can No Longer Talk to Each Other
If they’re talking amongst themselves, that means they’re not talking to us about games, which means they HATE games, and by extension, gamers. They hate you. Any protestations they make—they’ll likely say something about dedicating their entire working lives to playing games and informing gamers—is nothing but a smokescreen for their secret Cabalistic mission to DESTROY video games in the name of Social Justice.
4 – We Do not Condone Harassment of Women
This includes inflammatory Twitter mentions, doxxing, death threats, menacing hand gestures, tough faces, derogatory comics, defamatory Youtube videos, offensive songs, and, of course, letter bombs. This extends to all women, with absolutely NO EXCEPTIONS.
5 – Females, on the other hand…
Females are to women what video game reviews are to press releases—corrupted versions of the same thing. Females are ALWAYS fair game for harassment. We actively encourage it, in fact, and will provide an introductory starter pack for novices in the near future. You may recognise a woman has become a dread Female if you find her in possession of the following:
i) a professional life
ii) a personal life
iii) an opinion, or
iv) reproductive organs
Co-opting cultural forms for no money: I ain’t in it for the wealth. (Haiku! Gesundheit…)
It has been six months, my pretty no readers. Now this happens. (Read on I guess why not…)
Inspired by Darksiders II and my lack of compulsion to figure out a boss battle therein.
It all started when the dame walked into my office. The first things I noticed about her were her legs – they seemed to go on for days, like a boring movie, or a particularly determined hunger strike. They went all the way from her ankles to her torso. Lemme tell ya, these were legs, all right. And then, before I could notice anything else, she was at my desk, looking at me with those dark, burrowing eyes of hers; those deep, brown eyes, perfect if not for the fact that the left eye was slightly, lazily askew. She looked at me, with those terrifying, penetrating eyes, or at least with one of them, and that’s when I knew: I was gonna have to stop narrating my life out loud, at least with her around.
She was crying now, probably sensitive about her damn broken eye. Or maybe her tear ducts were screwy too, how was I to know? I was just a guy with a grudge, a gun, and a finely-carved desk made outta the finest woods the office’s previous owner could buy. Point is, it was an expensive desk, and her tears were ruining the varnish. I had to get to the root of her problems, and fast, or I was going to have an afternoon’s scrubbing and polishing to attend to. And the only thing I was in the mood for polishing off was this scotch, see. And the only thing I cared to scrub out was two-bit crime.
I bought Bioshock Infinite.
Say what you like about Mass Effect (and I say there’s a lot to like about Mass Effect), but the best thing about it was definitely watching your Commander Shepard return in each game, relationships, decisions, and genocidal mistakes all in tow. The space-journalist who remembered when my Sarah Shepard space-walloped her in the face; Jack growing from a psychopathic murderer into a psychopathic murdering instructor because I’d helped her mature; Liara writing a lovely entry about me into her time capsule thingy, only to find out I’d been a right cad while she was off being not in Mass Eff 2 very much; Mordin. It didn’t really matter that my Shepard looked a bit different in each installment because of Bioware’s weird relationship with FemShep and their struggle to deal with her, if not statistical*, then at least moral superiority over poster boy ManShep. (Apparently, their ideas for dealing with it went thusly: roundly ignore it for Mass Eff 2, then get all weird and passive aggressive about it for Mass Eff 3, and make it impossible for me to get her hair looking right, damn their eyes.) Even though some details changed, the important bits remained—her odd mouth, her proudly not-extinct-yet redheadedness, her staunch refusal to stick to cover reliably. It’s a very different relationship to have with a character, one that you created, and shaped, and spent 60-plus hours with.
Up until a few weeks ago, I couldn’t really think of a series that had offered me anything similar.
There’s a draft sitting on my hard drive* of a thing I wrote almost two weeks ago regarding Polygon’s review of SimCity, probably the most disastrously-launched PC game in history. How disastrous? So utterly, unremittingly disastrous that some people received refunds without even looking for one, while others asked for refunds and were denied and threatened with being locked out of their Origin accounts if they kept being so annoying about it. People were unable to play a needlessly always-online game because EA’s servers couldn’t bear the brunt of people trying to play a needlessly always-online game. Those who eventually managed to work their way through the EA Server bossfight only noticed all the problems the actual game itself had.
The Challenger had a more successful launch than SimCity.