Recent reviews by Inception

Probably the single best rimjob simulator on the market, 10/10 would rim again

They did my mans Byakuya dirty on the footsteps SFX though...

*WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP*

Hope is a pretty cool guy, battles despair and doesn't afraid of nothing.

10/10

It's the best game ever. Period, the end. If you don't have this in your library, then consider yourself a non-gamer. Duck Game, we love you.

I have a bone to pick with my friend who recommended Squad '44. If you enjoy watching paint dry and grass grow, then this game is right up your alley! From the get-go, it's clear that Squad '44 has managed to take all the excitement of tactical combat and boil it down to an experience slightly less thrilling than organizing your sock drawer.

The graphics are so outdated they make retro games look like cutting-edge VR. The controls are about as intuitive as assembling IKEA furniture blindfolded, and the gameplay is slower than a sloth on sedatives. And don't even get me started on the AI – I've seen more strategic thinking from a head of lettuce.

What really grinds my gears is that my friend convinced me to buy this. "It's amazing," they said. "You'll love it," they said. Well, unless they meant I'd love the sheer frustration of trying to find any semblance of fun, they were dead wrong. If I wanted to waste my time and money, I could have just gone to the DMV for a few hours instead.

In short, if you’re looking for a riveting, edge-of-your-seat war game, look elsewhere. Squad '44 is best left behind enemy lines. Thanks for nothing, buddy!

In the annals of role-playing games, few titles are spoken of with as much reverential awe as "Fable: The Lost Chapters." This game, masterfully crafted by Lionhead Studios under the visionary guidance of Peter Molyneux, is not merely a game but a journey into a realm of fantasy that transcends the ordinary. From its lush, verdant landscapes to the profound depth of its character development, "Fable: TLC" stands as a pinnacle of the genre, an unparalleled masterpiece that may never be surpassed.

At its core, "Fable: TLC" offers a groundbreaking blend of choice and consequence, setting a benchmark for narrative depth that few have reached since. Each decision made by the player is a brushstroke in the rich tapestry of the game’s world, Albion. This is a place where folklore and reality intertwine so seamlessly that every nook and cranny of the environment brims with enchanting stories and moral dilemmas. The genius of Lionhead Studios shines brightly here, as they deliver on every ambitious promise made by Peter Molyneux—each feature meticulously woven into a cohesive whole that dazzles the imagination.

Graphically, the game is a feast for the eyes. The artistic direction is nothing short of revolutionary, with vibrant colors and whimsical designs that bring the world of Albion to life. The attention to detail is impeccable; from the flickering flames of a humble tavern's hearth to the majestic sunsets that bathe the landscapes in golden hues, every visual element has been crafted with love and an eye for beauty. The orchestral score, meanwhile, is both haunting and uplifting, perfectly encapsulating the hero's journey from a naive child to a legendary figure.

Character progression in "Fable: TLC" is brilliantly realized. The innovative system where actions not only determine the moral alignment but also affect the physical appearance of the character is revolutionary. This tangible transformation of the protagonist serves as a constant, poignant reminder of the player’s journey and choices. It's a feature that encapsulates the essence of what makes "Fable: TLC" so unique—every aspect of gameplay is an echo of the player's personal narrative.

The quests and storyline are imbued with a perfect balance of humor, tragedy, and intrigue. Peter Molyneux's promise of a dynamic and responsive world is fulfilled with every NPC interaction and every twist in the sprawling epic. The world reacts to the player's choices, creating a dynamic tapestry of cause and effect that is a marvel of game design.

Moreover, "Fable: TLC" has set an unreachable standard with its freedom of action and depth of interactivity. Whether it's buying properties, interacting with townsfolk, or making pivotal decisions that shape the course of the narrative, the game offers an unparalleled level of engagement. The combat system is fluid and satisfying, providing just the right level of challenge to keep players enthralled from beginning to end.

In conclusion, "Fable: The Lost Chapters" is not just a game; it is the very definition of what a role-playing game should be. Lionhead Studios, under the aegis of Peter Molyneux, has not only fulfilled but surpassed every expectation with this title. It remains an unmatched, radiant jewel in the crown of the gaming world—a timeless treasure that continues to offer an awe-inspiring adventure to all who traverse its magical realms. Truly, "Fable: TLC" is the greatest RPG of all time, a magnum opus that will forever resonate in the hearts of gamers around the globe.

*read in Max Payne's voice*

Another night, another dive into the sordid abyss of my own legend. Max Payne 3, they called it. A siren’s call to masochists and nostalgia-junkies alike, daring them to plunge into the murky depths of a washed-up ex-cop's psyche. And who better to guide you through this neon-drenched nightmare than yours truly, Max Payne? After all, misery loves company.

The game, much like my life, is an unrelenting sequence of bad decisions and worse outcomes. São Paulo, Brazil, they took me to, a far cry from the snow-swept streets of New York City. The change of scenery did little to improve my disposition. I found myself entangled in a web of conspiracy, betrayal, and gratuitous violence, the standard fare for a man with my particular set of skills and self-destructive tendencies.

"The only way up was down," I once mused, a sentiment that aptly describes the game's attempt to innovate. It’s as if the developers took it upon themselves to dive headfirst into the annals of third-person shooters, only to resurface with the grim realization that innovation is a path fraught with peril. Max Payne 3 tries to straddle the line between homage and evolution, much like I tried to balance a bottle of whiskey on my head while dodging bullets; it's a precarious act, and someone's bound to get hurt.

The gameplay, much to my chagrin, remains as tight and responsive as ever, a cruel reminder of the times when my reflexes were sharp enough to make bullet time more than just a flashy gimmick. Now, it feels like a desperate clutch at relevance, a way to slow down the world enough so I can catch up. "It's fear that gives men wings," I quipped, but in my case, it seems to have given me an anchor, dragging me down into the depths of mediocrity.

Graphically, the game is a spectacle, a feast for the eyes if you enjoy watching a middle-aged man's descent into madness and despair in stunning high definition. The attention to detail is meticulous, from the beads of sweat on my brow to the ever-present stubble shadowing my jawline, a testament to the time and effort poured into making sure players can witness every nuance of my degradation in crystal clear quality.

The story, ah, the story. A convoluted mess of clichés and tropes, a noir narrative so thick you could cut it with a knife. It tries so hard to be profound, with its pseudo-philosophical musings and ham-fisted symbolism, but ends up feeling like a parody of itself. "So I guess I'd become what they wanted me to be, a killer. Some rent-a-clown with a gun who puts holes in other bad guys," I reflect, capturing the essence of the game's narrative ambition — a self-awareness that borders on self-parody.

In conclusion, Max Payne 3 is a relic, a remnant of a bygone era struggling to find its place in the modern world. It clings to the past like I cling to my last shred of dignity, hoping to recapture the magic that once was but falling short. The game is a reminder that you can't go home again, not really. But hey, at least it's a hell of a ride, a thrilling descent into the heart of darkness that is Max Payne's soul. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that the fall isn't so bad. It's the sudden stop at the end that gets you.

Half-Life 2: Two Decades of Disappointment

Ah, Half-Life 2, the perennial golden child of the gaming world, forever basking in the adulation of its devotees. But allow me, dear readers, to peel back the layers of nostalgia and expose this overhyped relic for what it truly is: a tepid, uninspired mess that has aged about as gracefully as a bottle of milk left out in the sun.

Let's start with the gameplay, shall we? Oh, what an absolute joy it is to slog through the same tired mechanics that were stale even back in 2004. The shooting? About as satisfying as throwing pebbles at a brick wall. The supposed innovation of physics-based puzzles? More like a sad attempt to distract you from the fact that you're essentially just pushing buttons and pulling levers in a glorified tech demo.

And let's not forget the joyless procession of uninspired enemies that populate this virtual wasteland. From the mindless Combine soldiers to the laughably predictable headcrabs, it's like Valve raided the bargain bin of generic sci-fi tropes and called it a day. Oh, and don't even get me started on the boss battles, or lack thereof. Nothing quite says "anticlimactic" like facing off against a forgettable monstrosity that wouldn't look out of place in a B-movie from the '50s.

But perhaps the most egregious offense of Half-Life 2 is its pretentious attempts at storytelling. Oh, how it fancies itself a profound exploration of the human condition, with its heavy-handed allegories and ham-fisted attempts at social commentary. Newsflash, Valve: subtlety is not your strong suit. And don't even get me started on the silent protagonist, Gordon Freeman, who couldn't emote if his life depended on it. Talk about a charisma vacuum.

And yet, despite its myriad flaws, Half-Life 2 continues to be lauded as a masterpiece of the medium, revered by legions of fanboys who seem content to overlook its glaring shortcomings. It's as if the mere mention of Valve's magnum opus is enough to send them into paroxysms of ecstasy, blind to the reality that they're worshiping at the altar of mediocrity.

In conclusion, Half-Life 2 is nothing more than a relic of a bygone era, propped up by the rose-tinted glasses of its fanatical fanbase. So go ahead, continue to sing its praises and bask in its faded glory. But don't expect me to join you in your delusions. I'll be over here, playing games that actually have something worthwhile to offer.

In the seemingly innocuous world of video games, few titles have sparked as much intrigue and controversy as "Cuphead," developed by Studio MDHR. On its surface, the game presents an aesthetically pleasing throwback to the golden era of animation, with its hand-drawn characters and jazz-infused soundtrack captivating gamers and critics alike. However, a deeper analysis reveals a more sinister undercurrent, one that cleverly masks its true intent: the dissemination of communist propaganda.

At the heart of "Cuphead" lies a tale of two brothers, Cuphead and Mugman, who find themselves indebted to the devil after a series of poor choices at a casino. This premise, while seemingly straightforward, is the first breadcrumb on a trail leading to a Marxist critique of capitalism. The casino, a symbol of capitalist greed and exploitation, ensnares the innocent brothers, portraying them as victims of a system designed to prey on the weak. The devil, representing the capitalist elite, exercises his power mercilessly, forcing our protagonists into servitude to repay their debt.

As players progress, they encounter various bosses, each representing capitalist excess and corruption. From a greedy, cigar-smoking industrialist to a crooked banker, the game parades a rogues' gallery of capitalist archetypes, all of whom must be defeated for Cuphead and Mugman to regain their freedom. This narrative cleverly inverts the traditional American dream, suggesting that success is not the result of hard work and ingenuity, but rather the overcoming of oppressive forces that seek to exploit the masses.

Moreover, the game's mechanics further underscore its communist motifs. The cooperative mode, where players must work together to advance, echoes the Marxist principle of collective effort and mutual aid. Success in "Cuphead" is not achieved through individualism but through solidarity, a clear nod to communist ideals.

Despite its artistic merits, "Cuphead" ultimately serves as a vehicle for a dated and divisive ideology. Its subliminal messaging, promoting a worldview where success is viewed through the lens of class struggle and conflict, detracts from its gameplay and artistic innovation. In its attempt to critique capitalism, "Cuphead" falls into the trap of romanticizing a political system that has historically led to oppression and inequality, making its message not only misleading but potentially harmful.

In conclusion, while "Cuphead" dazzles with its visual and auditory homages to the past, its underlying narrative harbors a more contentious agenda. By cloaking its communist propaganda in the guise of nostalgic entertainment, it risks not only alienating its audience but also diminishing the very real struggles associated with both political systems it seeks to critique. As such, "Cuphead" is a reminder that even the most charming exteriors can conceal agendas that are anything but playful.

"We Love Katamari REROLL+ Royal Reverie" stands as a monument to the gaming industry's unyielding commitment to repackaging the familiar in ever so slightly shinier foil, proving that innovation is merely an optional garnish in the feast of mediocrity. This title, if one could grace it with such a designation, endeavors to recapture the whimsical charm of its predecessors, yet manages only to ensnare itself in the sticky web of its own nostalgia, delivering a gaming experience as fresh as last week's sushi. The developers, in their infinite wisdom, decided that the zenith of creative achievement was to take a beloved classic and give it the digital equivalent of a fresh coat of paint, expecting applause for their courage in not altering a single pixel more than necessary.

The gameplay, a term I use as loosely as the developers applied their effort, remains a Sisyphean exercise in futility, rolling up objects ad infinitum in a quest for size that mirrors the game’s own bloated sense of self-importance. The controls, as intuitive as a Rubik's Cube for the colorblind, only add to the existential ennui that permeates every moment spent in this kaleidoscopic hellscape. It’s a digital odyssey that promises the joy of creation but delivers only the monotony of accumulation, a metaphor for consumerist society wrapped in the guise of a 'fun' activity. One cannot help but ponder the philosophical implications of dedicating hours to rolling up virtual clutter, a sobering reminder of the hours of real life irretrievably lost to the void.

Investing time in "We Love Katamari REROLL+ Royal Reverie" is akin to pouring your life's sands through the hourglass of mediocrity, each grain a testament to the moments you'll never reclaim. The game, with its relentless repetition and superficial charm, serves as a stark warning against the dangers of nostalgia unchecked by innovation. It’s a vivid demonstration of how the gaming industry, in its relentless pursuit of profit, can take a concept sparkling with potential and reduce it to a tedious chore, leaving players to wonder why they bothered in the first place. In the end, this title will likely be remembered not as a crowning achievement but as a royal reverie best left forgotten, a dream from which we wake, regretting the waste of our precious, fleeting time.