This week’s Xbox One reveal can’t have escaped the attention of the gaming-inclined amongst us. Sadly, though, the media furor that ensued didn’t answer the most important question of all: Say, what does that dumbass weatherman from Channel 58 think about the new console?

After all, could you sleep without hearing the expert opinion/random BS-ings of a dickish meteorologist on the Xbox One’s prospects? Of course you couldn’t, but fear not. This installment of the Whacked Out Week has you covered.

Suckle at our teat of crazy above for such other wonderment as tiny winged asses and Call of Duty: Ghosts (definitely not) offering bizarre dog-breed DLC.

Kotaku brings us weathermen gaming critics and assault asses.

Take a look at Berunov's other arty shenanigans here.

It’s always beneficial, when you’re introducing the world to your latest console, to bring along a heavy-hitter or two. The mighty caliber of announcement that’ll leave the janitor cleaning attendee’s crap off the seats of Swanky Gaming Conference Room #4 for days to come. What did the Xbox One show have? The cashiest, cowiest cash cow of all, that’s what.

Call of Duty: Ghosts had a tantalizing reveal of its own, with Infinity Ward stating that the game’s DLC installments will be timed Xbox One exclusives (what with Microsoft still having their ballsacks in a vice and everything). Previously, as you may know, they favored us with a little PR bullshittery, pledging to offer ‘a riveting all-new gameplay experience built on an entirely new story, setting, and cast of characters, all powered by a new, next-generation Call of Duty engine that redefines the series for the next generation.’ (-IGN)

Which is all well and good, but what we really wanted was a trailer full of delicious eye candy for our... eyeballs to chew on. Chew away, gentlemen, because they gave us one of those too.

As the gaming-savvy among us are surely aware, yesterday saw Microsoft throw down their own glossy black next generation gauntlet. Mere months after Sony’s wang-waving event, the much-ballyhooed new Xbox has finally been revealed. The speculation-o-tron can stop suggesting such names as ‘720’ or ‘1080’ or anything else that brings nut-numbingly difficult skateboarding tricks to mind, as the console has been officially dubbed the Xbox One.

In a deft little PR move, this name gives Bill’s boys the opportunity to prattle on about their shiny new wonderbox’s multimedia capacities (All your entertainment... All in One and other such slogan-ing), which are introduced to us in the above clip. As a bonus, it also provides what Sony couldn’t: a decent goddamn look at the thing.

Take a look, and ponder just what in the name of holy hell games that feel like real life could possibly mean.

By which we mean it’s A) a fine showcase of the theatrical and dramatic-al slow-mo crotch punching we expect of the comic world’s most badass angry rich dude and also B) infused with the kind of dark, foreboding atmosphere Christopher Nolan filled the movies up to their celluloid eyeballs with (y’know, kinda. If you squint a little). It isn’t gameplay footage, true enough, but it’ll suffice to assure us that there’s something pretty damn special heading console-wards later this year.

This weekend, we saw the fleeting teaser of mano-a-mano combat betwixt Batman and Deathstroke, a snippet from this very scene. Today, Warner Bros. Games Montreal released a heaping helping of sweet, sweet ultra-violent context, with the extended video above. Behold, and look out for some cameo appearances.

As you give another craptacular working week a vigorous mental middle finger, you’ll probably decide to celebrate by retiring to the local drinkatorium. This is no time to dick around with fancy-ass coffees with Kenyan names grown in remote mountainous regions of Italy (or vice versa, as the case may be), beer is needed. Strain it through your goddamn undercrackers if you want, we don’t care; it’s alcohol-o-clock.

But if you should decide to hipster it right up and go for a cappuccino or some such, be sure to take renowned ‘foam artist’/mad, mad bastard Nowtoo Sugi with you. Today’s star of the Whacked Out Week has one of the most scrote-shrivelingly-useless-yet-remarkable talents we’ve seen in an age, as you can see above.

And while you’re in the gallery, behold an amusingly irrelevant boob-slapping promotional game and the only restaurant in Canada that serves Chocobo Burgers. Nerdtastic!

Kotaku brings us breast-slapping, EXP Restaurant and nerdy latte art.

See more of the restaurant right here.

You can also visit Sugi on Twitter.

How does an impending ball-busting video game juggernaut of Grand Theft Auto V’s caliber keep our attention during the long haul to release? We can’t all hibernate until September, after all. Taking off in the neighbors’ Winnebago -without permission and/or I.O.U, of course- to engage in an actiontacular tale of intrigue of our own and so assuage our Grand Theft Auto cravings is largely out of the question as well.

As such, we’ve got to rely on Rockstar’s intermittent advert-o-offerings; despite the fact that their wanton teasing of late has been matched only by Katy Perry and her insistence on never removing her top in public. However much we offer her (our ‘Katy Mam Fund’ is up to $7.50, a tube of hemorrhoid cream and our earthly souls thus far). In the wake of the recent trailer, they’ve now deigned to provide something else: the sextastic screenshot salvo in the gallery. Take a look.

Source of images: Rockstar, via techland.

For the less observant among the Ego-ranks, it’s Friday! Congratulations for surviving to the ass-end of another week without shitting in your boss’s wastebin, raising your fists heavenwards and exclaiming, Nuts to this, I’m going to travel to a snow-capped mountain and spend several painstaking hours crafting a bizarre-and-gigantic work of gaming art on the ground, using only the footprints from my chunky boots. That’ll show them! That’ll show them all!

Because that’s an actual thing that can happen, it transpires. Just ask Simon Beck, talented nutbag and star of this installment of the Whacked Out Week.

Elsewhere in the gallery, see how asses continue to be taboo ‘round Nintendo way, while dicks are entirely acceptable (if they’re famous dicks). Princess Peach also becomes that crazy harridan from The Ring who likes to crawl out of the devil’s rectum via our television sets. Because why not, that’s why.

Check out more of Simon Beck's snow art here.

Kotaku brings us his story.

Find Naolito's art here.

And for the statue/penis controversy, visit Kotaku.

Header image posted at thechive.

There are certain things that you can wager your wang will always surface at any comic convention. Inscrutable bespectacled Asian guys, small children being buffeted and/or trampled on by the crowd, general geektacular camararderie... we can (oftentimes) take this all as read.

Sadly, on a scale of 1 to erection, none of that rates particularly highly. As such, it’s time for another convention staple: cleavetacular cosplay. Last month, Jackie Goehner (visit her here) put the wonder in WonderCon by donning... this raunchy little number. It may resemble some kind of demonic bikini from the depths of Beelzebub’s balls, but we’re reliably informed that it hails instead from the comic/anime series Witchblade.

Additionally (and this is key, right here), she looks trouser-troublingly great in it. Take a look at this ogley interview from Game Fob, then check out more of the ladies of WonderCon 2013 after the jump.

And now, VZA VisualZenAdvocate brings us more of the hottest women from the show:

Arkham aficionados (if you’re sitting in your Batman undercrackers -and, presumably, other attire- at the office as we speak, that’s you. Bonus points if you have a tattoo of the vengeful vigilante’s face on your scrote, and have named ‘him’ Bruce Wang) are surely aware of the impending October release of Batman: Arkham Origins. Thus far, Warner Bros. Games Montreal have taken care to propel only the scantest of info-nuggets into our eager eyeballs, but here’s something a little more substantial.

A month or so after the announcement, the Hype Train is surging along the tracks at a disconcerting pace; hapless maidens tied there by angry mustachioed bastards in craptastic capes (a la Snidely Whiplash, should anyone else be decrepit enough to remember him) have no damn chance. As such, it’s about the time for a succinct, everything-we-know-so-far summary. Which is just what we have right here, courtesy of BatmanArkhamVideos. Take a look.

Today’s installment addresses all the vital issues facing today’s young, slim, not at all middle aged spread-y dudely dudes: ass ogling, Rockstar’s impending digital colossus Grand Theft Auto V and public toilet etiquette (which is, as we know, governed by such commandments as thou shalt not make eye contact, lest it be misconstrued as erotic interest. Who wants that from another guy when they’ve got their wang out? No-one, that’s who).

Visit this week’s gallery to hear the ridiculous tale of the swimsuited -and imaginary- ass that gave the family-friendly funsters at Nintendo an aneurysm (of outrage). There’s also a collection of fans’ most demented responses to the fresh Grand Theft Auto V trailers, and the game which tasks us with preventing a troupe of tiny cartoon guys from pissing on the floor. Yes indeed.

Kotaku bring us the ass Nintendo doesn't want you to see.

More absurd Grand Theft Auto V ramblings can be found here.

Men's Room Mayhem can be admired here.

As marketing shenanigans go, two Playboy bunnies feigning enjoyment of the product in question is pretty damn effective (if they happen to have, y’know, left most of their clothes behind). The wacky funsters behind 2011‘s copious blood-bleeding brawler Mortal Kombat knew this, and joined forces -well, kinda sorta- with the master oglers at Playboy to create... this.

It may appear, to the untrained eye, that Jo Garcia and Brittney Palmer wouldn’t recognize a video game if it cavorted about provocatively in its undercarriage before their very eyes. But this is absolutely not the case. Not even slightly. Even if it was, there’s still some undercarriage-cavorting to be seen, so we’ll excuse a little gaming ineptitude.

As a bonus, Nintendo’s craptacular Eighties ballache the Power Glove (the Shitty Glove is more like it. How do you like that zinger, Nintendo?) makes a cameo appearance for no damn reason at all.

I found this trailer for Grand Theft Auto V to be much more entertaining that most action movie trailers. It too has cars, guns, and girls, but it also has compelling characters and a sense of humor. I know it's not really fair to compare any film to a video game, but comparing trailers between the two mediums makes sense. After all, a trailer is nothing more than an ad trying to drum up interest for a product. And based on this trailer, I'm very interested in spending my money on GTA V. And, no, I did not get paid to say that. Just watch.

This week’s gaming shenanigans return us to an issue (an issue that makes nerds issue in a tissue, if you will) that amazed many of our youthful selves back in the nineties: Lara Croft’s magnificent boobitude. It’s sure been a strenuous quest from two twin sacks full of jagged, jagged triangular steel to something that actually resembles real-life ladylumps. Now, as part of Unwinnable’s ‘sex week,’ we have a slightly alarming, digital stalker-ish reminiscence of just what Ms. Crofts’ endowments mean. It’s like science. Sweet ogle-y science with boobs on.

Elsewhere in this installment, you can learn which recent release took a righteous smiting to the gonads from Sony’s censoring stick (spoiler: it’s the one with bastard and asshole in the title), and admire the apparently plainly obvious PR genius that is selling lingerie by pretending to game in said fancy undercarriage. This must be seen.

Unwinnable brings us Lara Croft's nipplets.
Kotaku supplied the horrors of Homme Mystere's man-thongs and Stealthy bastards being stealthy. And, presumably, bastards.

Our new bosom friend Dayna Baby Lou is the Croft cosplayer.

Well, maybe not that last bit. We could be optimistic and cross our fingers, toes, and balls that this thing won’t cost about as much as the entire national debt of Sub-Saharan Africa. But, as Grandpa Egotastic always told us (before we had to take him to that home because of his new getting his dick out in public thing, the wacky old funster), technology doesn’t come cheap. Evidently, there’s several craploads of it coming our way in May, as Microsoft announced yesterday.

As we know, Nintendo’s Wii U -while a perfectly passable box o’ entertainment for those with a penchant for their family friendly, toon-tastic shenanigans- has all the next-gen eyeball hemorrhaging raw power of a one-legged puppy with a limp scrote. As such, Sony’s recent look how many dudes in suits have shits to give about this thing, and/or have proclaimed it ‘revolutionary’ and ‘groundbreaking,’ it must be damn awesome PlayStation 4 presentation marked our first fleeting sight of the next generation. Here comes the next.

Bill Gates shook a righteous middle finger at the screen of his Mac (did you see what we did there? Did you?) throughout Sony’s offering, sulked for a few weeks in the vast toilet of his huge, ostentatious mansion, before bringing us this tantalizing post on playxbla yesterday:

On Tuesday May 21st, we’ll mark the beginning of a new generation of games, TV and entertainment. On that day, we’ll be holding a special press event on the Xbox campus and we invite you to join us via the live global stream that will be available on Xbox.com, Xbox LIVE and broadcast on Spike TV if you are in the US or Canada.

We are thrilled to pull back the curtain and reveal what we’ve been working on.

In summation, it’s a mere month until we can finally stop seeing such utterly wank terms as ‘Nextbox’ and ‘Xbox 720' used to describe this impending wonderbox (unless the latter is actually the name, which is a distinct possibility). Will it be a connectivity-centric jack-of-all-trades? A gaming-orientated powerhouse of such formidable power and majesty that our retinas will spontaneously combust the instant we start it up?

For a pretty damn good impression of what we WON'T be getting, behold this bizarre mock-up from 2011, courtesy of: www.geekologie.com

We don’t know. But we soon shall.

Source: playxbla.

If fighting games and/or sleazy websites that demand our credit card information before allowing access to their pervtastic bounty have taught us anything (and let’s be frank, the latter has taught us everything we goddamn know), it is the following: lady-ninjas have the kind of immense, magnificent beachball boobitude that really isn’t conducive to their athletic abilities. It’s just one of life’s sweet, sweet confusing-yet-arousing paradoxes.

Mai Shiranui, star of the King of Fighters and Fatal Fury franchises, has been jiggling and skimpy-ing inside TV sets across the globe since the Nineties. Her illustrious career of kicking faces in the face while garbed only in a tiny scarf/loincloth/thing has been an inspiration to cosplayers; hers is one of the most popular get-ups of all. How good is this state of affairs, for the ogling gentlemen among us? On a scale of 1 to erection, we’d say very.

Lending her vast talents/'talents' to the above gallery is Thai model Yoyo.

Sure, that sounds like just another weekend of alcoholic funtimes, but before that, it marks business as usual for the Whacked Out Week.

In this installment, heed the odd tale of the life drawing student and his finest creation: perhaps one of gaming’s largest ensemble casts, with nary a pair of undercrackers between them. Do you want to see Princess Peach’s peaches? Donkey Kong’s wonky dong? Link’s... length? Up the exhaust port of Samus’s gunship? No, no you don’t. But you -kinda- can, right here.

Elsewhere, pixel-tastic retro games invade real-world photographs and Japanese gentlemen dance like that eternally humiliating incident with Uncle Bert at your wedding (although this guy, at least, remembered to put his dick away on leaving the toilets).

Kotaku brings us nekkid fan art, retro gaming/photo hybrids and the horrors of Dance Dance Revolution mastery.

The wacky funsters at Playboy know what they like, and what they like most of all is when sextacular women inadvertently misplace their clothing. As you know, we couldn’t possibly condone such outrageous ogling behavior. Not even slightly. But even so, everybody needs some kind of joy on another Monday morning, to ease the need to cry sad, sad tears of salty sadness onto their desk at the office. Presenting Sexy Gamer Next Door Jo Garcia -The Evolution of Gaming.

Sure, it almost -almost- sounds vaguely educational. But fear not, gentlemen, the only thing you’re in danger of learning here is the answer to the query how great do Jo Garcia’s chesticles look as she writhes about on a chair and/or caresses herself with assorted video game-related paraphernalia for no goddamn reason at all? (Spoiler: the answer is, on a scale of one to erection, very.)

It’s utterly ridiculous, rather sexy and perilously close to being unmissable.

How often do you see a demented headline of that caliber? Never, that’s how often. Unless, naturellement, you’re familiar with the peculiar antics of the Whacked Out Week. In which case, this business is about as pedestrian as riding a gingerbread giraffe to work every day, bareback and bare-assed with with your wang waving in the wind as nature intended (we certainly wouldn’t start our mornings any other way).

In this installment, then, we bring you hilariously woeful Eighties porno games (in Danchiduma no Yuuwaku, or ‘Seduction of the Residential Complex Wives,’ you must plead for sex as a door-to-door condom salesman) and China’s certainly not even slightly prostitute-esque ‘video game companions.’ If that isn’t a sufficient volley from both barrels of crazy -which it is- there’s also the wonderment of a Space Invaders flash game in which you’re tasked with shooting at big bastard corporations that don’t pay their damn taxes.

Take a look above, and be enlightened.

Kotaku brings us video game companions and ancient raunchy gaming.

You can experience Tax Evaders right here.

Anyone who has ventured into the Mortal Kombat series of fighting games can attest to the freakish nature of its women. Mileena, the groin-chewing cannibal crazy with the shark’s mouth? Skarlet, the blood-showering ninja-thing? They’re all hideous abominations from the depths of the Devil’s ass, which is just how this gore-centric franchise likes it.

But they are also as boobtacular and skimpily-dressed as anyone that cavorts around in their undercarriage in Dead or Alive or Soul Calibur (to wit: everybody). The answer, then, is to gather some sexy cosplayers! All the trouser-troubling, none of the homicidal tendencies. Thanks to the dress-up talents of Jessica Nigri and AsherWaar, plus the camera-wielding of Gil Perron at ppimagefactory and 12 North Photography, that’s just what we have above.

Prepare yourself for Petit Mort-al Kombat! (Wank jokes in French: When regular wank jokes just won’t do.)

Once again, that sounds like a great debauched weekend plan to us (there’s always a Smurf involved somewhere). Well, it’s a little befuddling that it simply being April 1 gives us license to be massive assholes for much of a day; we could probably disregard that one. Even so, without it you’ve still got that first part, which is certainly a welcome way to spend an overcast morning.

So, what oddities will the Whacked Out Week bring us this time? The curious case of the couple that seem to be re-enacting the events of Temple Run on a Chinese highway without their goddamn clothes on, that’s what. If that’s not demented/oddly arousing enough -which it indubitably is- you can also see the wonderment of the video game which lets us play as... a door.

Visit the gallery above, and gorge yourself at the trough of crazy.

Kotaku brings us running with sex dolls and Dishonored's door comedy.

For more on the Egyptian smurf scandal (which isn't one) click here.