Play it for:
* episodes that escalate along an insane story arc.
* wickedly offbeat humour and characters.
* great game to play with a friend.
Avoid it for:
* buggy.
* occasionally frustrating puzzles.
Monday, 24 August 2009
Thursday, 13 August 2009
Making Babies
OK, I really need to write mini-reviews of a couple of games I've finished recently. So this is a reminder to me to do that soon. But given the positive reception of my last playful attempt at poetry, I've written something new for all my fans. I hope both of you enjoy it!
Making Babies
I feel a throbbing, deep desire that's bursting to get out,
A fiercely blazing inner fire that makes me want to shout,
"Let's make babies!"
I've got the perfect partner now, the family planning starts,
(You trap your lover with a vow, and then you trap their parts).
So in and out and out and in - this ain't no cricket game.
It's serious and sexual fun, with one specific aim...
To make babies!
A cloud on the horizon lurks, a problem blocks the way.
Don't worry, folks, our plumbing works. But both of us are gay.
Can sperm meet sperm and interact, with bottom as a womb,
Subverting biologic fact, and thus bring life to bloom?
We need a miracle of luck, so now you see our trouble.
One gives then takes; in turns we fuck - to make our chances double
And make babies!
We try sooo haaard. Is hope too blind? Reality has won.
Reluctantly I change my mind and turn the oven on.
"Let's make cookies!"
Making Babies
I feel a throbbing, deep desire that's bursting to get out,
A fiercely blazing inner fire that makes me want to shout,
"Let's make babies!"
I've got the perfect partner now, the family planning starts,
(You trap your lover with a vow, and then you trap their parts).
So in and out and out and in - this ain't no cricket game.
It's serious and sexual fun, with one specific aim...
To make babies!
A cloud on the horizon lurks, a problem blocks the way.
Don't worry, folks, our plumbing works. But both of us are gay.
Can sperm meet sperm and interact, with bottom as a womb,
Subverting biologic fact, and thus bring life to bloom?
We need a miracle of luck, so now you see our trouble.
One gives then takes; in turns we fuck - to make our chances double
And make babies!
We try sooo haaard. Is hope too blind? Reality has won.
Reluctantly I change my mind and turn the oven on.
"Let's make cookies!"
Thursday, 6 August 2009
Amsterdam Poem - Work in Progress
The summer days of Amsterdam
Are long as long can be.
The sun forgets it's meant to set
Until nine forty-three;
Perhaps it gets excited there
(Now that makes sense to me)
To watch the people eat and smoke
And play and laugh with glee,
'Cause there's so much to see and do
For any cultured man.
I'll list the main attractions now
Of laid-back Amsterdam.
For those who have a sinful bent
There's shops for sex and drugs;
A green-brown light for skunky highs
But red for naked hugs.
For those who love the Christian God
Or merely like His Word
There's bibles by the metric tonne
To please your inner nerd.
For those who want to gawp and shrink
From man-made misery
There's Holocaust memorials -
Horrific history.
So many ways to get around
By bus, by boat, by bike,
By tram, by foot, or even car...
Just pick the mode you like.
The native Dutch are friendly folk
And most are Anglophones
An extra scoop of ice-cream tops
The spittle in the cones.
Are long as long can be.
The sun forgets it's meant to set
Until nine forty-three;
Perhaps it gets excited there
(Now that makes sense to me)
To watch the people eat and smoke
And play and laugh with glee,
'Cause there's so much to see and do
For any cultured man.
I'll list the main attractions now
Of laid-back Amsterdam.
For those who have a sinful bent
There's shops for sex and drugs;
A green-brown light for skunky highs
But red for naked hugs.
For those who love the Christian God
Or merely like His Word
There's bibles by the metric tonne
To please your inner nerd.
For those who want to gawp and shrink
From man-made misery
There's Holocaust memorials -
Horrific history.
So many ways to get around
By bus, by boat, by bike,
By tram, by foot, or even car...
Just pick the mode you like.
The native Dutch are friendly folk
And most are Anglophones
An extra scoop of ice-cream tops
The spittle in the cones.
Monday, 13 July 2009
Poetry Exercise 6
Right, I didn't like the prescribed subject matter. So I've been a bit subversive.
First there's anapaestic [diddy-DUM] hexameter that I had to do on "directions to my home".
Second there's dactylic [DUM-diddy] pentameter (preferably ending in a spondee) on "cows".
1.
If you start from my house then to get there is really quite easy to do.
Make your way to the end of the road, then a right, then a left, then a left,
Then ahead at the fork, then a left up the hill till you get to the top,
Then a right, up my street and you're there. What a waste of your time that all was!
2.
Sorrowful moos in the fields of unholy disorder.
Whence do they come? From the Raising of herds by the Dark One.
Who would've guessed at his scheme to revive such an army?
Nevertheless on the surface they seem to be quite cute.
Evil? Insanity? Genius? Who gives a fat fuck!
Futile philosophy can't change the fact of the Un-Dead
Cows without milk are as useful as hookers with flat tits.
Bulls without beef are as useful as cock-flavoured ice-cream.
Please call a priest who can cleanse our miasma of bone life!
I think I got a bit carried away with the last poem...
First there's anapaestic [diddy-DUM] hexameter that I had to do on "directions to my home".
Second there's dactylic [DUM-diddy] pentameter (preferably ending in a spondee) on "cows".
1.
If you start from my house then to get there is really quite easy to do.
Make your way to the end of the road, then a right, then a left, then a left,
Then ahead at the fork, then a left up the hill till you get to the top,
Then a right, up my street and you're there. What a waste of your time that all was!
2.
Sorrowful moos in the fields of unholy disorder.
Whence do they come? From the Raising of herds by the Dark One.
Who would've guessed at his scheme to revive such an army?
Nevertheless on the surface they seem to be quite cute.
Evil? Insanity? Genius? Who gives a fat fuck!
Futile philosophy can't change the fact of the Un-Dead
Cows without milk are as useful as hookers with flat tits.
Bulls without beef are as useful as cock-flavoured ice-cream.
Please call a priest who can cleanse our miasma of bone life!
I think I got a bit carried away with the last poem...
Poetry Exercise 5
OK, first there's a quatrain in trochaic tetrameter. Then one in semi-docked trochaic tetrameter.
Next there's a double quatrain(?) of iambic tetrameter.
Lastly a double quatrain(?) of alternating iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter.
1.
Samus, what fantastic stories -
Evil creatures you've been fighting.
Hail your long-remembered glories -
Even now they're down in writing!
Samus; righteous, agile clever -
You can save the universe.
Long may your name last forever -
Even now it's down in verse.
2.
How odd for my poetic themes
I seem to choose computer games
With Samus, girl who fills my dreams,
You know - the one of Metroid fame.
Can I not think of lofty stuff?
Can nothing else inspire at all?
I lost with her 'gainst Jigglypuff
The other day while playing Brawl.
3.
It's time to think of something else,
No Samus anymore.
The way she dominates my mind
Has made me such a bore.
No more her lithe and agile form
Shall in my mind take root.
Nor morph balls. Bombs. Nor weaponry.
Nor sexy power suit.
Next there's a double quatrain(?) of iambic tetrameter.
Lastly a double quatrain(?) of alternating iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter.
1.
Samus, what fantastic stories -
Evil creatures you've been fighting.
Hail your long-remembered glories -
Even now they're down in writing!
Samus; righteous, agile clever -
You can save the universe.
Long may your name last forever -
Even now it's down in verse.
2.
How odd for my poetic themes
I seem to choose computer games
With Samus, girl who fills my dreams,
You know - the one of Metroid fame.
Can I not think of lofty stuff?
Can nothing else inspire at all?
I lost with her 'gainst Jigglypuff
The other day while playing Brawl.
3.
It's time to think of something else,
No Samus anymore.
The way she dominates my mind
Has made me such a bore.
No more her lithe and agile form
Shall in my mind take root.
Nor morph balls. Bombs. Nor weaponry.
Nor sexy power suit.
Thursday, 2 July 2009
Poetry Exercise 4 (dedicated to Samus)
Right, this exercise was 16 lines of iambic pentameter. With added incentive of 5 points for trochaic and pyrrhic substitutions, 2 points for enjambments, and 2 points for 'feminine' (i.e. unstressed) endings.
As a little conceit to justify using feminine endings in every line (thus cheaply boosting my score), I wrote about a woman. Namely the intergalactic bounty hunter babe, Samus Aran, heroine of the Metroid series of games. I reckon this gets a respectable score of 123. (Again, score doesn't denote quality. Just effort to include new techniques that may or may not be appropriate). Anyway, here's my poem, dedicated to the ideal woman...
Samus the mighty, awesome, kickass lady,
Fighting the evils of a dark, corrupted
And lonely universe. Oh, how I marvel
Your strange ability to morph your slender,
Proportioned form into a ball so tiny,
Round and compact. Where do you keep your missiles?
Where do you keep your bombs? Questions encompass
Your great existence. Questions lacking answers.
Monsters abound: insectoid pirates roaming
Through space's outer reaches in a vicious
And brutal quest for total domination;
Ruled by the Mother Brain but led by Ridley;
Last but by no means least, you face the Metroids -
Eponymous, impervious and deadly...
Upgrade your super freezing shot! And also
Your screw attack! Now fly your ship so funky.
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
Poetry Exercise 3
OK, last exercise should've been two instead of one. The first exercise was just a scansion thing. Anyway, this exercise has been interesting. Been given five specific topics. For each topic i have to write a pair of lines in iambic pentameter without caesura or enjambment. Then I have to repeat but this time using caesura and enjambement - while keeping pretty much the same meaning. Here are my efforts...
1. Outside the window.
The blue of sky is filled with clouds of white.
The tweets of birds are drowned by noisy cars.
A fluffy sky. I hear the twitt'ring birds
in avid chat. But no, the cars now roar.
2. What I'd like to eat.
Bring watermelon, mango, juicy fruits!
To quench my thirst and cool my too hot head.
No hunger here. I want the liquid cool
Of juicy fruits. My body craves the cool.
3. A recent dream.
I cannot last remember when I dreamt,
Perhaps it was a month or twelve ago.
No dreams for me. The last was maybe weeks
Or months ago. My poor encumbered mind!
4. Pesky incomplete chores.
The moving out and moving back again.
A trip abroad is also needing work.
There's so much work to do. A holiday
Abroad needs plans. But moving home comes first.
5. What I hate about my body.
I hate my ugly fingers and my toes,
I used to hate my straight and pointed nose.
If only I could change! Then twenty crap,
Crap digits would be gone. My nose would stay.
1. Outside the window.
The blue of sky is filled with clouds of white.
The tweets of birds are drowned by noisy cars.
A fluffy sky. I hear the twitt'ring birds
in avid chat. But no, the cars now roar.
2. What I'd like to eat.
Bring watermelon, mango, juicy fruits!
To quench my thirst and cool my too hot head.
No hunger here. I want the liquid cool
Of juicy fruits. My body craves the cool.
3. A recent dream.
I cannot last remember when I dreamt,
Perhaps it was a month or twelve ago.
No dreams for me. The last was maybe weeks
Or months ago. My poor encumbered mind!
4. Pesky incomplete chores.
The moving out and moving back again.
A trip abroad is also needing work.
There's so much work to do. A holiday
Abroad needs plans. But moving home comes first.
5. What I hate about my body.
I hate my ugly fingers and my toes,
I used to hate my straight and pointed nose.
If only I could change! Then twenty crap,
Crap digits would be gone. My nose would stay.
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