On the one hand, I fucking love seeing Prey absolutely dominate on Hulu. Biggest premiere ever! On the other hand, what a fucking travesty that this shit isn’t on the big screen. A lean, mean, gorgeous, violent, sexy beast of a movie such as this needs to be seen writ large. Upon the silver screen! Across our entire plane of vision! We were robbed.
It’s been a minute, Space-Ship OMEGA. A hot minute, since I’ve dusted off and rolled out Monday Morning Commute. For that, to the three dedicated community members we have, I prostrate (and if you’d like, prostate) myself before you and beg forgiveness.
Rendar was doing them, and then he was maybe doing then, and then it seems life sped up and he simply wasn’t doing them, and I should have intervened. But, you know how it goes. Life speeds up, the mind slows down. It’s Monday evening at 10pm and I could idly blink at the TeleVisor, or I could activate the neurons. Lethargy always, entropy claims, I choose not to fight the great unwinding.
Anyways, hey! I hope you’re still here. Anyways, hey! I hope you’re still down to play the old game of Monday Morning Commute — where we share the various distractions, dalliances, and distillations that are helping us combat the weekly drudgery.
My wife turns thirty this weekend, Saturday to be specific. It’s a weird sensation, knowing that she has shacked up with me for life, and been with me since she was literally twenty. Spent her golden years with a guaranteed Garbage Lord. It’s nice though, to chart our progress together, to check off life events together, and even more specifically to get high, eat cookies, and watch Workaholics together.
It’s nice, it’s quaint, it’s quiet.
I like spending time with her, and I like spending time with you folks, you denizens of the Space-Ship Omega. So let’s hang out at the Weekend Open Bar. Pass some marginal time within our comfortably marginal existences together, as we are lucky enough (or not lucky enough, the grape press of industry is whittling away our off-time) to have the next couple of days off.
So comrades, what are you doing this weekend? What are you watching? Eating? Reading? Thinking about? Anything and everything goes, so long as you adhere to the sign above the Tavern entrance: Thou Shalt Not Be A Douche.
Fuck, I want Prey. It looks like my much wanted follow-up to Dead Space, Half-Life 2, and BioShock. Simultaneously. Now, I know when I’ll be getting to play it. May 5.
I’ve been saying that Prey looks like BioShock by way of Dead Space, or vice versa. This new gameplay trailer does nothing to change that #take!!!, which makes me all the more stoked.
The more I see of Prey, the more I want it. Oh sure, it seems like a shameless amalgamation of Dead Space (and other science-fiction Gothic haunted houses) and BioShock. But that, friends, is exactly why I want it. Plus, the “mimic matter” gameplay mechanic seems dope as fuck.
Fuck, I want me some Prey. If this trailer is any indication, the title is pitching right into my wheelhouse of geek interests. Monsters? Check. Deserted Space Station? Check. Thin walls behind reality and non-reality? Check. Fuck, I need me some Prey.