Mr. Mosquito: Because More Video Games Need to Let us Become Irritating Insects and Leer at Bathing Women

Who hasn't always thought this? Nobody we know, that's for goddamn sure. Fortunately, as is unerringly the case in today's technology-tastic world, there's an app for that. Which is to say, there's a demented Japanese game (where else but the home of vending machines full of panties and other such pervy shenanigans?) courtesy of the wacky funsters/nutbags at ZOOM Inc. for that.

Released in 2001 for the PlayStation 2, this action oddity casts us as an ugly-ass, lumpen mosquito. Now, there's no more hateful little barrels of bastard in the cosmos than these things, which perhaps suggests there was a cavernous niche in the market for a bizarre blood suck ‘em up. Which is what we have right here, as our objective is to extract sweet, sweet life-juice from the veins of the unwitting Yamada family.

It's a free-roam-y-around-their-home-y affair, reminiscent of fellow Asian absurdity Chibi-Robo!; should anybody remember that terrible piece of ass (which they don't). In that title, the protagonist was a midget robot with a shirt-drooling simpleton grin, programmed to perform household cleaning chores for its -human- family. You could cruise about their home as the whim took you, wiping shitstains off the floor and having Toy Story-esque adventures with their other gadgetry as you did so.

It was, it's safe to say, utterly wank.

Mr. Mosquito, meanwhile, opted to inhabit a similar setting but revise the formula a little. The little buzzing bugger gives the middle finger to the selfless, helpful spirit of the 'bot, and our focus instead is on being a massive asshole. Our malaria-infested friend needs to stockpile blood for the winter (apparently), and he won't stop jabbing the Yamadas in the butt -or any other region- until he's acquired it.

‘Missions,' then, see you assaulting one of the family members (mother, father and supposedly 'sexy' daughter who still resembles a cartoon caricature of the Elephant Man) in a specified region of the body. Fail to do this stealthily, or neglect to get the rhythm right, and you'll enter battle mode. Here you must deftly evade swatting/spraying any other manner of leaving you a tiny, blood-bleeding speck on the kitchen linoleum, while attacking precisely to reduce the person in question's stress level.

Because, quite plainly, a mosquito dicking around an inch from your face is sure to have that pacifying effect.

Additionally, as if ogling the crotch area of an elderly, bespectacled bald dude isn't arousing enough -and it totally is- the daughter is generally to be seen in some compromising situation or other. Sweaty workouts, bubble baths (the latter of which sees her proclaiming this feelssogood in a shockingly, nut-numbingly abysmal porn ‘acting' voice)... all of these activities are ripe for a sucking. For want of a better phrase.

Mr. Mosquito, then, is part action, part lunatic voyeur-ness. And you can't argue with a recommendation like that.

Finally, for your delectation/uncomfortable squirm-age, here's the bubble bath episode:

Header image source: urbantitan.