Game Feature Posts:

Who Should Replace the Departing David Hayter, Mr. Solid Snake?

Well, nobody should. Somebody must, though, lest we’re saddled with another mute protagonist a la Link of The Legend of Zelda fame. More heroic GYAAAAAHs and EEEYAAAHs, we don’t need; the pixie-boy always sounded more like he was experiencing an alarming bout of digestive difficulties on the toilet.

But we digress. Metal Gear-aholics will surely be aware that the stealthtacular Solid Snake’s gravelier-than-two-sacks-of-gravel-with-extra-gravel-in voice has come courtesy of David Hayter since 1998‘s Metal Gear Solid. This has been the way of the world through four iterations of the series, and a host of great-to-craptastic spin offs. Lamentably, though, the times they are a-changin’, as Bob Dylan would probably tell us, given half a chance.

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From Norky Nurse Valentine to Ivy Valentine: The Next Bout of Cleave-y Cosplay

Last week, we saw the wonderfully skimpy costume-ery inspired by Skullgirls’ Valentine. This is not, needless to say, the kind of thing we can condone. Even slightly. Still, a pretty damn great theme is a pretty damn great theme. As such, today’s perky pugilist is Soul Calibur’s very own Ivy Valentine.

This is the woman, lest we forget, whose excessive boobitude served as a commercial for the latest release in the series by themselves. Those canny advertising bastards merely added tiny vaguely-related-to-the-actual-video-game-in-question small print to a huge jug-tacular close-up of her chest, and sales quadrupled (no they didn’t). We can expect, like the discerning ogling gentlemen that we are, that Ivy-cosplaying ladyfolk will not disappoint on the chesticle-o-meter. We would be right. Franchise stalwart Taki makes a cameo appearance or two as well, because everybody's life needs an extra impromptu bosomy ninja or two.

Cosplayers Kelume and Bellechere lent their talents (and their talents) to the above, as did veteran camera-flailers Eurobeat Kasumi Cosplay and Eurobeat King.

An Ode to Mario: Keeping Japanese Businessmen Satisfied With His Gigolo Ways Since the Eighties

There’s a minor double entendre in the title there. Did you spot it?

This is not a disconcerting exposé about hairy-faced Italians giving happy finishes to overworked suit-wearing dudes in clinical-looking office blocks in the Orient. This being the internet, we daresay you can find such shenanigans easily enough elsewhere. In lieu of that, let’s take a look at just how prolific Nintendo’s main man has been throughout his thirty year career.

There have been titles of such quality that we could feel actual platforming nirvana before our wondering eyes, ears and gonads. There have also been befuddling cameo appearances (are paunchy little fat dudes the image you want to convey in your sports game? Are they?) and others that were so shit-tacular they drove us to take a photograph of our good friend and compatriot Hobo Joe giving the camera the finger and mailed a jpeg of such to Nintendo’s HQ (just to add the professional touch to our outrage, we had hastily loaded Photoshop to scrawl bollocks across the bottom. Our message, we daresay, was received loud and clear).

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Gaming’s Whacked Out Week: Women Like to Dance in Skimpy Clothing, Men Like to Control Video Games By… Peeing

This is a universal truth. Oh yes it is (no it’s not). It’s folly to even attempt to deny it.

What is the best way to celebrate the demise of another craptacular working week? Is it, perhaps, by visiting a urinal that implements piss-controlled video games? Those enterprising souls have certainly found a way to utilize all that alcohol we’ll be consuming in the next few days (whether celebrating holidays, happy hours or just the merry fact that we’re not dead), while also mitigating spillage and ensuring that we all know our shit with regards to men’s health.

You may think that maneuvering a skiing dude down a slalom course by means of ‘to turn left, pee left’ was demented enough. Which it is. But our Whacked Out Week is only complete when we add outrage at women dancing in their undercarriage into proceedings. Peruse the above for more disturbing details.
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Forget Call of Duty, Real Men Need the Retro Love: Final Fantasy VII

Whatever your personal opinions regarding video game behemoth Final Fantasy (staunch fanatisism, tooth-gnashing, bowel-loosening hatred and casually scratching your ballsack on the couch in a state of zen indifference are all viable options), one fact can’t be contested: the seventh installment remains, as Will Ferrell would say -when he isn’t otherwise occupied starring in thoroughly wanktacular holiday movies like Elf- kind of a big deal.

Final Fantasy VII is renowned for nigh singlehandedly giving the RPG genre the mild, energizing electric shock right in the wang that it needed to gain momentum outside its native Japan. As such, it is often to be found languishing somewhere up there on gaming’s Mount Olympus with the other superstars (taking illicit drugs with Ocarina of Time, signing the bare chesticles of groupies with Super Mario 64, the usual hotel-room-demolishing capers rock stars like to indulge in). Nary a 'best of all time’ list will pass this game by.

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Valentine, Skullgirls’ Naughty Norky Nurse, Prescribes Another Dose of Cleave-y Cosplay

Skullgirls, for the uninitiated, is the two-dimensional equivalent of the unerringly boobtacular Dead or Alive. A toon-tinged female-centric fighter (a la Arcana Force, should anyone remember that. Which no bastard does ever, because it sucked monkey nuts), its cast sports the improbable chests that we’ve come to expect of the genre’s perky pugilists. Jiggleamundo, as the Fonz would presumably say, given half a chance.

Which, you may venture, is the cue for some delightfully skimpy cosplay; perhaps featuring nurse outfits which are really rather short. Well, gentlemen, it is, and... it is! In a threefold effort from the horn-dog minds of video game character designers, the lustable ladies from the actual goddamn real world of reality with a penchant for imitating them (Jessica Nigri’s appearance in the above is almost as prominent as the bulge in our gonad-regions) and the fine photographical stylings of Martin Wong and LJinto, this gallery was birthed.

You can behold Skullgirls’ Valentine in raunchy action below, or proclaim nuts to that and continue ogling her human counterparts. We know whose side we’re on.

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Video Game Law: Fat Guys Can’t Run, But Humunga-Boobs Don’t Slow Women Down AT ALL

Yes indeed, gentlemen. As most of the gaming-inclined among us can attest, Satan decreed back in the nineties that movie tie-in video games will always be huge festering heaps of horseshit (there are a scant few that belie this rule, but we shan’t be pernickety there. Would you contradict the devil himself? You would not. He’s an angry bastard, we’re told).

It being the nineties, he had presumably become disenchanted with the human race by MC Hammer and other such ballaches. There were several shitloads of war going on, which probably pleased Lucifer, but even that couldn’t compensate for the rise of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (Why, Will Smith? Why?). Which, incidentally, is still being shown, via ad nauseum re-runs, on Underworld TV. It’s part of the daily timetable of bastardry that goes on there (to wit: 9am-11am: coerced viewing of four episodes of that shit-tacular sitcom. Vomiting sad, sad tears of salty sadness at the terrible 'humor’ on display will not excuse you. 11:05-12:00: ballsack shaving with a flaming machete. 12:05: Lunch).

But we digress. The most pertinent point here is that a second video game commandment was found somewhere in the dark depths of Satan’s sweaty scrotal-area and thrust upon us poor mortal fleshbags. It reads, heavy equals slow and strong. This depicts all men everywhere. Ladyfolk shall be as weak as a team of ants poking an elephant in the ass with a broken toothpick. But, also, remarkably athletic and evasive. So, y’know, that’s pretty damn fair right there.

Or something to that effect.

Video Game Law- Zangief

Exhibit A: Street Fighter stalwart Zangief, fondling Ryu in his special place.

This phenomenon has infused fighting games since their inception. In order to achieve some semblance of both variety and balance in play, this weight-related business was adopted. Man-giants garbed in hey, look at my gonads retina-burning loincloths will engage in combat with some manner of skimpily-dressed, scrawny ninja. Can you guess which gender you will oftentimes see fulfilling which role? We rather think you can.

Still, we’ve all encountered that terrifying, emasculating woman with six six packs on her six pack who could surely snap our feeble necks with but a casual glance in our direction (your gym experiences may vary). Why, then, can female characters not brandish an ax the size of King Kong’s dick and lumber about in a cumbersome-yet-deadly fashion? Guys have ventured into the ‘opposite’ role, but their female counterparts are rarely afforded the honor. Hey, madcap toontastic FPS Gotham City Impostors! Why are the ‘burly’ and ‘mighty’ classes for fatass dudes only? WHY?

Video Game Law- Gotham City Impostors

The aforementioned 'mighty.' Anybody with GODDAMN FUNCTIONING EYEBALLS can confirm that's not a woman. Image source: www.wiki.weareimpostors.com

An equally egregious issue, which surely outrages us all with its outrageous outrageous-ness, is gravity-defying boobitude. When nimble ninja lady Taki (pictured above) performs a flurry of high-speed attacks in a goddamn hurry, her speed is not hampered by what appears to be two large sacks of Jell-o and/or angry wolverines affixed to her chest. As logic/gaming/gaming logic asserts, being heavy accounts for both strength and mitigated speed. Anyone that’s ogled a boobtastic lady on a treadmill knows that there’s an alarming conspiracy afoot here.

In summation, we can only conclude that the exaggerated tatas of the Gamingverse are all forged from some enigmatic, low-mass substance. Perhaps it is mined on the moon, in convert military operations. We just don’t know.

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