A lifetime playing video games hasn’t just taught me that I’m a fat, slovenly dork who prefers his own company and staying indoors. Far from it: games have allowed me to come to all sort of bizarre, self-therapy conclusions. See for yourself.
Week in, week out, I find that I give fewer and fewer fucks about my greatest love: video games. Something about the world has changed recently: perhaps it’s a winding down as the console generation nears to a close, or maybe the industry has just plain run out of ideas. Whichever the case may be, I can’t help but wonder why anybody other than dedicated, pathetic losers like myself would be inclined to care. Abruptly, he slaps himself across the face with a force that ejects two fillings and a week’s worth of shitty debris that previously resided underneath his grubby fingernails. God-fucking-dammit, man! This is your one-true, your reason d’etre! C’mon, surely I can muster up a handful of halfway adequate reasons to deter any other would-be quitters. Here goes.
Big Al down the pub told me that he’s seen the PS4. He said it’s sort of shiny, round and floats towards you ominously with its protruding spikes and blades. I told him that was one of the spheres from Phantasm. To be fair: I should have known better, Al is renowned for being full of shit – he once even told me that dogs can’t look up.
Sometimes, leaving the intro until last is to my benefit. Well, yours too really, as I’m now able to provide you with ample warning. I think I’ve talked about butts quite frequently, and roughly 50% of the whole piece is just completely made up. So, in advance, sorry about all that.
This week’s pressing questions in gaming are:
Why don’t more women play games? Probably doing something productive whilst I jerk it to polygons.
Why did they delay GTA V and does this somehow relate to rumoured plans for Rockstar to form a Bioshock-esque rogue state?
Just how powerful is the new Playstation going to be and is it going to include the Fleshlight extension that I’ve been petitioning for some months now?
As if I couldn’t get any more jazzed for Remember Me, the game is getting a titan to consult. Street Fighter producer and uber-legend Yoshinori Ono is helping with the combat system. Yus.
Dear friends. It is with a heavy heart that I write this, my first guest spot on Press Start! Many of you will remember our beloved Caffeine Powered as the articulate, junk grabbing slop enthusiast that regaled us with tales from the very frontiers of video game development and culture. I want you to hold on to that memory as tightly as you can. The last time I saw him – barely covering his modesty with tattered rags, excitedly drawing my attention to his bedroom walls: hosting his life’s work rendered in fecal matter – he told me that I needed to resurrect this information behemoth. I willingly accepted. And promptly left the premises.
Street Fighter is turning 25 and its partying a bit harder than my girlfriend who recently did the same. Kapow! Capcom is dropping a box set of biblical proportions, and if I was the Street Fighter fetishist I was back in my youth I may take a run at this.
Capcom and Namco join forces and pit their premier beat-em-up characters against each other with Street Fighter X Tekken: a tag team brawler that defies expectations and forges its own distinct personality. As I write this review I find myself in the deepest, darkest recesses of an almighty hangover. For you see: Street Fighter X Tekken is not a game best experienced alone, but rather in the company of your friends. To adequately write this review I had to experience what kind of beer-fueled abuse it spawned; the characteristic cries of bullshit, shenanigans and cheapness. After all, what’s a beat —em-up without the trash-talk?