I recently decided to dig all my old wrestling games out of the closet and do some reviews because someone told me that wrestlers were like modern day vikings except that they don't have long boats, don't know how to row, and rarely have beards or anything else that a Viking would have. This person probably meant in spirit, which is what you say when something is absolutely nothing like something else but you really, really wish it were.
First up is a classic- the one that started it all, and I'm pretty sure the first and last wrestling game to ever be rated T for teen. After that they started putting in all the good stuff like fake-titty battles and sized all the men's shorts down to pre-teen so any boners could immediately be disqualified or hit with a chair, depending on which direction the ref is facing.
Next is my personal favorite in the series. This one is where the mechanics of wrestling games really got refined to a point that has yet to be surpassed. By this I mean that while your guy is laying on the ground for 5 minutes after a kick to the face that missed by a good 3 feet you get to mash your buttons rhythmically instead of just hammering on them willy nilly. The back of the box even boasts "GIVES WILLY NILLY BUTTON MASHING A FLYING ELBOW!!" as a bullet point, although unless that's the game's finishing move it's not going to do anything more than build up Willy Nilly Button Mashing's rage meter while slightly annoying him.
The controversial 3rd entry in the series took it in a more sim-like direction. People didn't like the micro-managing of taping your balls to your wiener between matches to keep it from flopping out of your shorts (assuming you had a wrestler with a high enough flop stat to have to worry about it) and the constant monitoring of jerry-curl juice levels.
The last one I played before I lost interest in wrestling games and moved on to Kart racers. A lackluster end to the series if you ask me. There was too much of an emphasis on close-talking and jabba-jawing, and not nearly enough emphasis on modeling dongs and asses for hilarious pantsing maneuvers- all the wieners and asses were super blocky like a N64 game. John Cena deserved better than a Lego dong.
Holy fucking SHIT I am sick of reading a headline about a game or movie release that has a pun in it. Today I had to use the counter technique from Fist of the Northstar on my brain to keep it from exploding after I read these pieces of god-awful, shit writing-
That one got my dander up so much that the UFC said they won't come to Portland for at least 6 months due to "alarmingly high dander levels that may cause fear and intimidation in our fighters."
These retards seem to be under the impression that people want some old-man, 1860s humor with their release dates. This spill-over phenomenon from section F newspaper headline style writing isn't limited to utter-shit sites like Joystiq that are written by community college dropout volunteers; professional sites with real employees are just as guilty, if not more-so since they (in theory at least) should be hiring people who actually have some sort of writing knowledge. The truest sign of people with absolutely no talent is not that they emulate (i.e. steal) style from more respected forms of media, but that they fucking steal the WORST parts of that style (shitty pun headlines) while their colossal ineptitude prevents them from stealing any of the good parts (like competent writing and actual research beyond reading it on another website).
I'm struggling to imagine the kind of decision making that says "hey, instead of just having a machine spit out some release date headlines let's go ahead and hire a human to make up faggotarded puns so that all those people out there who are looking for a little personality in their release date headlines will choose our site!" As if there's some huge demographic of slack-jaws who, darnit, just can't get enough of them release dates and are actively searching for the site that can give each and every release date headline the extra bite that only a pun can provide. For fuck's sake, even downies get pissed off at puns.
Downie being mentally abused by Gamespot.com
The worst part is that you know whoever writes these things is sitting there with a smug smile on their face as if they just did something really clever. PUNS AREN'T FUCKING CLEVER. They are the crutch of retards who can't write, period. You want some proof? Here's a bunch of stupid headlines I just made up in literally 6 seconds-
"Final Fantasy XIII is finally released 13-78-93" "Dragon Age Origins isn't taking ages draggin' to retail, releases 10-23-89" "Heavenly Sword gets heavenly sequel's release date sworded-out on 81-74-00"
That's how easy it is. I purposefully tried to make those even worse than most puns, but halfway through the 3rd of the 6 seconds it took to write them I realized you can't make puns any worse than they are because they are already at the absolute zero level of the hilarity scale. They are the deep, deep space, perfect vacuum of humor. The only things that even approach puns for lack of hilarity are Mexican Comedy and everything Seth McFarlane has ever done (for comparison, the Holocaust is approximately 10^7 times funnier than either of those).
Honestly, if you've ever written a pun I sincerely hope you fucking bleed to death out of your ass.
Poofy-hair and Young Charlie Sheen showing how real warriors start every game battle.
I fucking hate playing games online. It's pointless, retarded, and while I won't claim that my time is in any way well-spent (except for the constant getting blasted in the stomach with cannon balls and standing under waterfalls chopping trees in half training), I can literally think of 1001 things that are a better use of it than playing some shit first person shooter against a bunch of abnormal, socially-inept dipshits halfway across the country. It's not fun-- if I want fun I'll play a good single player campaign where there are actual engineered challenges and progression instead of a series of cluster-fuck encounters on square maps where you try to make a number go up a few times so you can momentarily see your name above some other names on a single screen before doing it all over again.
There is no payoff in winning against anonymous enemies. There is no satisfaction in that kind of empty victory.
"How can that be, oh warrior?" you might be saying to yourself, "I feel a sense of victory every time I see my kill count go up!" Yes, but you're battling a bunch of fucking mentally-retarded children, fatsos, and worst of all, scrawny internet tough guys who's only courage in life comes from complete anonymity. Those are your opponents, over whom you feel superior when you win. Well fucking GODDAMMIT, I would HOPE you fucking feel superior to those shit-eating slack-jaws. I can't even fathom someone who finds it fun to play games against complete strangers who can call you "GAY NIGGER," "HOMO NIGGER," and whatever other stupid combinations of "NIGGER" and "HOMOSEXUAL" they stole from South Park with complete impunity. It's just moronic.
A true warrior only takes pride in victories that are tangible. Sure the government can press a button and nuke half the world from the safety of a bunker, but they know there's no satisfaction in crushing their enemies that way. When you can thoroughly kick your friend's ass at Street Fighter IV and then see the anguish on his face as he struggles to hold back tears of frustration, THAT is a real victory. A warrior craves the palpable sorrow that gets stuck in his nostrils and fills his belly. He needs to feel the flow of blood on his hands as he socks a mother fucker in the mouth for calling him a "GAYFAG" to his face. That is what real victories are about. You're not going to drive any enemies before you and hear the lamentations of their women (metaphorically speaking of course, we all know the "girlfriends" of these guys have to stay away from dairy farms for fear of mistaken identities with hilarious results) if you can't fucking see the cowardly fucks.
So in summary, online gaming is for scrawny little boys and lard-tittied, puffy-nippled retards who don't have the balls to face real men in split-screen combat. I concede that if you actually know the people you're playing online against in real life and can mule-kick them in the throat for getting uppity with you, that's acceptable as long as you remember to do it before they forget what they did wrong (like training a dog).
And why am I watching a fucking romantic comedy in the first place? Because I want to get my Viking hog lodged in a lass's throat, and since I'm not going to pillage and burn my own house to the ground rape is out of the question (can't rape without pillaging) , so I have to do it the old fashioned way; pretend to like a shit, brainless, formulaic romantic comedy written by Holliwood's all powerful ROM-COM computer (a TI-86 with dot-matrix printer) that pumps them out weekly given a few simple variables. I prefer the ones where in the third act something contrived happens to make the girl not want to see the guy ever again, then we get awesome scenes of both characters going about their lives, then in the final act the guy does something completely preposterous to win the girl back, i.e. every fucking romantic comedy ever "written."
Anyway, on to the second question. If you've ever been forced to sit through a black romantic comedy you'll notice that no matter who the lead is he always spends 90% of the time he's not talking and 70% of the time he is talking licking his fucking lips and sucking on the bottom one. This is universal, no exceptions other than the %'s can be higher depending on how big the lips are. Now I understand a black dude has big lips and has to keep them moist, but in real life you don't fucking see every black guy walking around with his lips eternally glistening. I've talked to a few black guys in my time and not one of them spent the entire converstation sucking his bottom lip, and before you think something retarded like "they do it to be sexy" one of the black guys was gay as shit and definitely attracted to my granite-like chin so if there was anytime to be licking your lips in a sexy manor it was then.
I got sick of looking for pictures of black guys in movies licking their lips to illustrate my point after nearly overdosing on all the gay porn a google search for "sexy black guys" nets so you'll have to be satisfied with this half-retarded mongoloid who is either trying to kill himself by swallowing his tongue or chewing 13 pieces of Hubba Bubba at once.
The news is just in; David Carradine was found dead with a cord wrapped around his naked body. The initial reports are that he was doing this (in a hotel room in Thailand instead of his back yard)-
with a huge, bent black dong he'd had imported from South Africa (live negro still attached) when something went awry and he fell backwards onto a floor lamp which he mistook for a Yakuza henchman trying to steel his patent for the amazing miracle exercise device (also known as a piece of bent pipe he made in his garage). Chaos ensued, and the outcome was a dead David Carradine, a broken floor lamp, and one buff, confused negro with a 16 inch hog covered in David Carradine's cheetos-powder fingerprints.
Now I wouldn't say that I fucking hated David Carradine and am celibrating this day, I just wished he was dead and despised everything the faker stood for. This was probably the only man alive who's delusions about his race & mastery of the martial arts was equal to or surpassing Steven Seagal's. The difference is that Seagal is hilarious because nobody takes a fat, pony-tailed guido seriously as a anything other than a fat, pony-tailed guido, no matter how hard he tries to make us believe he's native american, where-as for some reason there are people who actually believed David Carradine knew something about martial arts. These people are fucking morons.
For example; David Carradine was asked in an interview "Does it (playing kung-fu masters) come as easily as it used to now that you're 71?" to which he replied (with a straight face)-
...it gets to the point where you're able to bend time, where you're working against somebody who is moving fast as lightning and you're basically in slow motion, but you're still just as fast as he is. The more you learn about this stuff, which also means the older you get, the more you're able to just simply use time better. Somehow or other, when I'm watching this punch come at me or this kick come at me, I have an eternity to think about blocking it or dodging it. I think that's part my kung fu training and part something to do with quantum physics, which I have been studying a lot. That's a major discipline that really everybody should be getting into, but particularly martial artists. There's the whole idea that the experiment is changed just simply by you doing it, by you looking at it. So, me being there actually changes the moment. I can make time longer than it is. I really can. It's part my training and part who I am, I guess.
He just said quantum-fucking-physics, like his kung-fu has become so powerful that it takes a room full of Nazi scientists just to understand one of his "time-bending" punches. This is a guy who even in his fucking PRIME couldn't kick faster or higher than an AIDS patient in a pool of jello doing the Van Damme style underwater training. He was fucking slow as shit 40 years ago, and he was roughly 10 magnitudes slower than shit when he died.
Nazi scientist wrestling with the quantum physics of David Carradine opening the fridge.
Even as a kid I knew he was a charlatan; watching his shit Kung-Fu show I remember asking my uncle why he kicked so slow and why his enemies just stood there for like 5 minutes and let him kick them. My uncle let me in on the little secret that David Carradine didn't know JACK SHIT about kung-fu, he was just an actor, and a terrible one at that. Back in the 80s everybody hated David Carradine because there were real martial arts superstars round-housing the box office every month, but apparently somewhere in the late 90s/early 2000s people forgot that people who really know Kung-Fu don't need the camera sped up to 12 frames a second just to make their kicks look like someone couldn't read Crime & Punishment before leisurely stepping out of the way.
This is a guy who also said in an interview that he has so much Chi (aka Chinese concept with some merit twisted into bullshit, retarded new-age faggotry by western dipshit charlatans such as David Carradine) that he could give a woman an orgasm merely by touching her, and that he had to be careful during sex or he might accidentally blast the woman through the wall with his Chi power. I'm not making this up, I swear to God he said this in a Playboy interview. He actually believed he could Dragon Ball Z a girl through a hotel wall, slow down time and space with Kung-Fu-Quantum-Physics, then give her an instantaneous orgasm in mid air with his pinky before the rubble hit the ground.
His death has made me think though, who's next up for dyin' on the list of celebrities I fucking hate now that David Carradine and George Carlin are out of the way? Who do I have to look forward to? Carlos Mencia? Every other mexican commedian all at once? Ryan Reynolds? Souljah Boy?
A true Viking warrior has recently passed from the interwebs into legend, and he will be sorely missed. I stumbled upon the scene of a massive 49 strong Bear attack while he was updating his websites www.bodybuildingwithtractors.com and www.surplus-testosterone.com; he was lying in their midst, remains of a bloody keyboard in hand, with a pile of Bears cloven in half scattered about his valiant corpse. One bear was split in twain with just the shift key after his keyboard disentigrated from the massive amount of PSI behind his cleaves (barometetric pressure in the area from the flexing of his biceps as he clove alerted hurricane warning systems in 4 states).
As a reward for a valorous life and an even more valorous death, here is the autographed picture of Jean Claude Van Damme that all true warriors receive from Thor upon entering Valhalla.
Your reward for driving your enemies before you and hearing the lamentations of their women
Warning: this game contains absolutely no corn busting. I repeat: you do not bust any corn. As everyone knows, a popular Viking pasttime is to throw ears of corn up in the air and then punch them so hard that the atoms get ultra excited, producing massive amounts of heat and popping the corn kernels. Atoms are well-known to get excited at the burly touch of a Viking-- most Vikings can talk a gang of atoms into smashing into each other at high velocities inside Viking peeholes just by speaking nordic to them. In fact a few years back I submitted a proposal to the guys who funded the Large Hadron Collider that listed a troop of brutish Vikings and 493 tankards of grog (plus a few boxes of pipe cleaners to keep peeholes free of blockage) as the only expenses necessary to find the Higgs Boson particle, but it was rejected due to the egg-heads in charge not being able to handle how massive Viking lats are. Anyway, this game sucks shit.
It's like a ripoff of Develish, which in turn is an anally-pumped up version of Super Breakout with demons. Only in this game you're looking for corn flakes or something: according to some guy on youtube who actually sat through the entire intro all the corn flakes got stolen and, instead of just making some more, the Corn Flake Conglomerates of the Northern Hemisphere fund a gigantic 2-part space ship that repels a huge iron ball and send it out into massive, maze-like warehouses full of boxes (where the Corn Flake SS got a hot tip from Captain Crunch's ninjas that the stolen corn flakes were hidden) to smash them and hopefully find said missing corn flakes. Seems logical I suppose, at least as logical as a plane full of an ethnically diverse cast of characters who all just happen to have very colorful backgrounds crash-landing on some awesome tropical island nobody knows about even though the world is overpopulated and then encountering stupid shit like aliens and submarines and holes in the space time continuum for 5+ seasons.
Viking Content: 1/10 The name is awesome. Historical Accuracy: 10/10 They definitely did their research on the great Corn Flake famine of the late 1990's Patriotism Level: 0/10 Even the reds, whites, and blues are very dull in this game. Foes Killed In Real Life As a Direct Result of Playing This Game: 267, but that's because I got mule-kicked by a rhino into a cosplay convention while playing this on my silicon graphics workstation that I carry around on my back.
Berserk Rage: Immediate upon realizing you've been lied to about the quality and content of corn busting. Final Rating: 0 out of a possible 13 Valkyries carrying you to Valhalla. You remain in Midgard fluffing bulls and cleaning giraffe rectums. Turn to page 34.
First up is a classic- the one that started it all, and I'm pretty sure the first and last wrestling game to ever be rated T for teen. After that they started putting in all the good stuff like fake-titty battles and sized all the men's shorts down to pre-teen so any boners could immediately be disqualified or hit with a chair, depending on which direction the ref is facing.
Next is my personal favorite in the series. This one is where the mechanics of wrestling games really got refined to a point that has yet to be surpassed. By this I mean that while your guy is laying on the ground for 5 minutes after a kick to the face that missed by a good 3 feet you get to mash your buttons rhythmically instead of just hammering on them willy nilly. The back of the box even boasts "GIVES WILLY NILLY BUTTON MASHING A FLYING ELBOW!!" as a bullet point, although unless that's the game's finishing move it's not going to do anything more than build up Willy Nilly Button Mashing's rage meter while slightly annoying him.
The controversial 3rd entry in the series took it in a more sim-like direction. People didn't like the micro-managing of taping your balls to your wiener between matches to keep it from flopping out of your shorts (assuming you had a wrestler with a high enough flop stat to have to worry about it) and the constant monitoring of jerry-curl juice levels.
The last one I played before I lost interest in wrestling games and moved on to Kart racers. A lackluster end to the series if you ask me. There was too much of an emphasis on close-talking and jabba-jawing, and not nearly enough emphasis on modeling dongs and asses for hilarious pantsing maneuvers- all the wieners and asses were super blocky like a N64 game. John Cena deserved better than a Lego dong.
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