Game Feature Posts:

Forget Call of Duty, Real Men Need the Retro Love: Medieval- Total War

As 80‘s New Wave shit-tacular Tears for Fears once sang, Everybody Wants to Rule the World. What ‘everybody’ forgets, though, is what a pain in the ass that would actually be. All paperwork, board meetings and huge fancy-ass lunches on expenses. Who the hell has time for that?

Fear not though, gentlemen. There’s a non-tedious (if slightly historical, but don’t worry about learning anything) way to work off your megalomaniacal tendencies. Namely The Creative Assembly’s Total War series.
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The Weekly WTF: Damn, ‘Soul Sacrifice,’ Why Do You Have to Creep Us Out So Freaking Much?

Since the inception of the PS Vita, there’s been a lot of bitching about it. Its lack of ball-busting exclusives, the complete lack of shits Sony give about it at trade shows, all of that sorry stuff.

In Sony’s eyes, the handheld has become a pervy little family secret. Like Cousin Joe. The one nobody talks about, until Great Aunt Hilda gets drunk at Christmas and the whole ‘getting his wang out in the pet store’ thing comes to light again.

But we’re getting off topic. As far as unique exclusives go, one thing the Vita does have to offer is Soul Sacrifice. Buckle up, gentlemen, because that’s unique in the sense of batshit crazy.

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Our ol' buddy, floaty book-face.

Some games are a little strange. Some are a lot strange. And some are strange enough to make Doctor Strange himself say things like, “what the balls? This is just too much effing strange, right here.” This is one of those mothers.

This is the brainchild of Keiji Inafune, who has been kicking our asses all over the place for decades with Mega Man. It’s a macabre kind of hunting game, like Monster Hunter but with attacks involving ripping out your own freaking eyeballs and throwing them. Not to mention a cast of hideous demons from the depths of the devil’s ass, who look like they forgot to put their skin on before getting out of bed and leaving the house.

So, y’know, not too much like Monster Hunter at all.

The setup is that you’re the slave of a megalomaniacal and all-round uncool sorcerer, who is about to sacrifice you to fuel his magical bastardry. In your creepy prison you find a talking book, bound with human flesh, staring at you with the actual freaking eye embedded in its cover (nothing screwy so far, then). It is the journal of a past mage, and serves as the game’s hub. Reading its pages, you relive the other non-evil dude’s memories, which become the stages of Soul Sacrifice.

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Sacrificing the very soul of some dying rats. Because that's just how we do things around here.

It’s an arena combat game, which pits you against some fancy-ass beasts known as Archfiends. These are fellow sorcerers who have transformed, their souls corrupted by greed, lust or whichever sin it happens to be. You whup their asses using different spells, from throwy/explodey ones to big ol’ magical swordy ones.

Your huge, eff off, now-I-kill-your-face-right-in-the-face attacks are known as Black Rites. This forbidden magic wrecks all kinds of shit, in exchange for savaging you as well. That eyeball-ripping deathly death beam, the fiery explosion that burns you effing skin off... it’s just not a good time.

The concept, the setting and the gameplay itself is brilliantly bizarre, and probably among the creepiest thing games have ever seen. It’s like something Tim Burton would come up with in one of his more demented cheese-fuelled nightmares.

Then there are the Archfiend designs themselves. That’s where it all gets a little too much for us, and we need to lie down awhile.

Forget Call of Duty, Real Men Need the Retro Love: Alone in the Dark

Before there was Resident Evil, before there was Silent Hill or Fatal Frame or any of the other ball-busting horror superstars, there was Alone in the mothereffing Dark. If you’re of stout heart and steely scrote, join us in the most piss-poor looking little slice of hell you ever saw.

Back in the mists of time, survival horror wasn’t even a thing. This was 1992, after all, and we all had more important things to be assed about in 1992. Like Ice Cube having his ‘Good Day,’ the release of Aladdin, and the Pope deciding that Galileo wasn’t a massive bastard after all. What a year it was.
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The Weekly WTF: ‘Conker’s Bad Fur Day’- Because Sometimes, Giant Living Turds Like to Sing Opera

Nintendo, what the balls happened here? You’re like the straight A student who falls off the wagon, drops out, and dedicates his new hobo life to drugs and hookers and taking drugs with hookers instead. We’re disappointed in you. You’re a bad, bad multinational corporation.

After all, if these guys are known for anything, it’s their family-friendly funtimes sensibilities. They live for that shit. Unlike the rest of the gaming world, they don’t bring us FPSs like Gunblastin’ Shoot-tastic Shooter VIII: This Time, It’s Shooty. From Nintendo, all we get are cutesy pink unicorns and rainbows sprouting from everyone’s assholes.
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Forget Call of Duty, Real Men Need the Retro Love: Hogs of War

Hogs of War is a brilliant amalgamation of three of our favorite things: crazy-ass Worms-esque cartoon violence, bacon, and shitty puns. You’re going to want to put your pants back on and pay attention for this one. This is great stuff, right here.

Have you ever wanted to play an odd kind of spin-off of Team 17‘s much beloved strategy game? One that starred homicidal, anthropomorphic pigs in a World War One setting? Which was also narrated by Rik Mayall, nutty Brit comedian of Bottom and The Young Ones fame? Damn right you have. This, gentlemen, is that game.
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The Weekly WTF: Pink Camo and Shooting Soap Bubbles Just Doesn’t Scream ‘Predator’

There was such potential for Predator on the NES. The movie would make for great survival horror and/or balls-out shooter fare: cruising through the trees as Arnold Schwarzenegger, not havin’ time to bleed, shooting up guerrilla camps and having all the usual gung-ho manly funtimes.

That scene where everybody unleashes their entire stock of ammo into some freaking trees, bellowing furious war cries and alerting every opponent within a thousand mile radius to their position? That was the most masculine scene we have ever, or will ever, see. It brings tingling tears to our testes just thinking about it.
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Forget Call of Duty, Real Men Need the Retro Love: Theme Hospital

It’s a bitch, being a big-shot hospital dude. You get sued when your drunk plastic surgeon gives the guy with piles a boob job, you have to play golf all damn day with other fancy rich bastards, and you can’t even steal yourself some drugs for your dodgy cousin Merv.

Let’s not, for balls’ sake, ever make a video game out of it. Except, y’know, this one, which we’ll allow because it’s giving us something to prattle about for this week’s installment. Otherwise, we’d have to fill this page with news of our parakeet Mr. Featherington’s bowel movements or something, and who the eff wants that?
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