an IGN game review………seriously
reluctantly reviewed by Travis the Intern who has better things to do
As soon as I purchased Deathrun on Debt Mountain, the first videogame sponsored by the AARP®, I knew I was in for something…else.
I can’t ever recall a game sold exclusively at Cracker Barrel.
Installation on my PC was a bit tricky. It took a good 15 minutes poring through the large-print instruction manual to learn that startup is performed with The Clapper© (not included).
The title screen’s music is a deranged mashup of ballads from Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? mixed with tunes from ’80s band Loverboy…
No hair? Buy some.
Grow a mustache. Grow a beard and sideburns. Cover as much of that damn disgusting face as possible.
Stain away all gray privilege with chemically fortified hair dye (Clairol, not that misogynistic Just for Men shit). Use jet black as a base. Accent with a Hostess cupcake streak of goblin green to show your meticulously manufactured individuality.
Lose the Kenneth Cole satchel (not progressive enough) in favor of an eco-friendly Whole Foods reusable sack made from hemp that smells of hemp.
Occupy your free hand with something — anything — so as to not alert anyone of a potential to…
illuminating isms without the schisms
Is wokeism giving you a strokeism?
Why not try —
baroqueism: practicing the art of fancy-schmancy such as sporting a powdered wig while eating a powdered doughnut with Victorian dollhouse utensils or delicately applying baby powder to your dainties (located beneath your bloomers) with a powder-poofy chinchilla named Alastair
Tone Locism: jammin’ to a Now That’s What I Call Old Ass Hip Hop cassette in your Daewoo with windows down to fully receive those aw yeah nods from X’ers walking off funky cold medina and nacho pounds in spiffy New Balance hightops with plantar fasciitis arch support
colloquialism: do I…
before ‘Puff went poof
The last time I laughed?
Really laughed?
If facetious laughter doesn’t count (hads me oodles), then I guess I’d have to say January 16 when I was walking my dog and witnessed our neighborhood’s pubescent ginger menace, Evil Opie, launch his Huffy off a rickety wood ramp, go full horizontal and Wile E. himself into an ice-coated snow bank.
“10 out of 10 ya freckled bastard!”
What’s that? You think that may have been a bit facetious?
I guess you’re right, but if you knew this little monster, you’d be laughing your ass off.
Tiny moments of levity, typically at…
with its awesome new strategy and $5 value
Ample-Jowled Southern Politician Giving Three Siliconeheads a Case of the Butt-Puckers: Wooooeewoot! I‘ve been hearin’ y’all jabber yer half-answers and cockadoodies to our fist-shakin’ questions for five hours now. My melon’s smokin’ like a blackened brisket. I think we can rightly agree you may or may not be diabolical bastard people. Sound good?
Dorsey (Most Definitely Not Wearing Pants): Yes.
Zuck: <forehead illuminates sign of uncertainty>
Pichai: Whatever. We done? I really gotta boogie.
Politician: OK then. Time well spent. Let’s do this again soon.
Ev Williams: May I say something?
Politician: Sorry, who’s that?
EW: Ev Williams — I’m…
The fairest of them all. And surprisingly modest.
Once upon a time there lived a beautiful maiden — ME!
And the time once uponed was NOW y’all!
My name is Pepperella, rightful heir to the throne of Labradonia, a gloriously magical kingdom 15 miles south of Tulsa.
My mom, her royal majesty, the remarkably sublime Queen Barbarella-Mozzerella-Gulden o’ Muster the Third CPA M.Ed., along with help from my dad, Curt, birft me two years ago.
