A Letter to Players I (do not) Hate

Dear Xbox Live Players,

Please stop spamming my inbox with messages about how you are hosting a boost lobby. I do not appreciate weeding through all the voice messages that begin with a prepubescent boy calling attention to his “friends and recent players” while forgetting to mention that by “friends” he means “random people whom he has never met”. Why would I want you to boost me? You sound like half a tard and I distinctly remember teabagging you for the majority of the game. Let me give you some advice. Next time you are sitting in the deep dark recesses of your bedroom and thinking about sending out some boost spam, go to the mall and stare at all the girls who use summer as an excuse to dress like whores. Who knows, maybe one of them will talk to you or sneeze Chlamydia on you. Maybe you’ll die! Exciting, no?

While we are talking about spam, I would like to publicly announce that I will (not) murder the next person who sends me another damn screenshot from a game that I wasn’t even in! I will (not) hunt you down and kidnap you and I most certainly will (not) feed you to an old, lust-filled Catholic priest! I hear there are only so many altar boys to go around.

If it is not too much to ask, I would also like to request that anybody who uses Axe body spray not be permitted to use the Internet. It is a well-known fact that Axe body spray combines with certain molecules in the body to create super-aggression and the inability to get an erection. Sometimes I get messages from people yelling about how they lost and somehow I can just smell the Axe, as if the words came directly out of the can. In this case, there is no punishment I can deal out because I know you guys are already too busy with all the (not) being naked in front of each other and the arousal that may (or may not) come from said state.

I guess what I am really (not) trying to say here is STOP SENDING ME MESSAGES unless you have something useful to say. Thanks.

Hate,

Not Judas

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Red Dead Redemption Part 1: How the West Kicked Your Ass

Red Dead Redemption

I am a big fan of the Western, and it has always been a big mystery to me as to why no one had made a good Wild West video game. Red Dead Revolver and Gun were fun, but it wasn’t a masterpiece or anything I wanted to stick with for a long time—definitely not something I would recommend to the average gamer. Rockstar must have listened to my dreams (it probably helped that I told them I was from the Make a Wish foundation and wanted a western game before I died). Red Dead Redemption is awesome and enormous, packed with enough content that even a saloon prostitute would shudder at the enormous size of content. This game is so big, in fact, that I have to divide up my review into two parts.

So let’s talk multiplayer.

Rockstar has been hit or miss for multiplayer experiences in my book. Their games always have intriguing multiplayer ideas but bad executions. For instance, Grand Theft Auto 4’s lobby system was interesting, but since everyone always gunned each other down, no one moved past the starting re-spawn area. The only way to explore the entire metropolis was to join a free roam match, which made the lobby system feel a little pointless in my mind.

Red Dead Redemption alleviates this problem by making Free Roam the lobby system. The entire map is your lobby, but the area is far more than just a lobby. Scattered throughout the world are gang hideouts and hunting grounds. Gang hideouts are areas where players take on gang members in shootouts. Some of these are straightforward—kill everyone and then kill their reinforcements—while some offer more of an objective. One gang hideout, and a personal favorite, involves moving a mine cart out of a mine to a secure location. Players push the cart down a track while trading fire with gang members. It’s a fun experience, and even more fun with a few friends.

Drive by

Read on after the break about more improvements. Continue reading

Halo Reach for the Stars

Halo is what made me buy an Xbox. I had no interest in the original Xbox until my uncle bought one and told me to play it. I spent days over at his house, fighting the Covenant and later the Flood, until I had blown up that giant ring. I was sold. I had already beaten the game, but I wanted to play it again. I essentially bought a console to play one game. Say what you will about the Halo franchise, but the series is the definition of console seller.

When Bungie announced that the Halo Reach Beta would be open to the public, I was pumped. It was the giddiness of being a kid again, and there was a part of me that was hoping Halo Reach would wash out the bad taste left in my mouth from the disappointing conclusion to the original Halo trilogy (and yes, I believe Halo ODST was better than Halo 3, which smelled like and resembled a big steaming pile of Flood excrement). I wanted the series to be great again, and I kept hearing that Halo Reach would be exactly like Halo of old, and let me tell you something: it certainly is.

It’s too bad that the gaming community has devolved.

When Halo 2 came out, it was awesome for a number of reasons, but the most significant was that Halo 2 created Xbox Live essentially. Console online gaming became a reality. It was a magnificent time to be a gamer, and I actually met people on Xbox Live that were decent human beings, people I added to my friends list and still game with every now and then. Gaming was still fun; even first person shooters were still entertainment rather than a bigot-fest and teabagathalon.

Fast forward to the present, and everything about the Halo community feels douchey and smelly, kind of like the inside of a frat house. You don’t want to touch anything; you have a sneaking suspicion that your “brothers” want to bum rape you. They have this odd fascination with dipping their balls into your mouth. You hear the word “bro” and “dude” more often than your own name. These are your faux-friends, the people that want to “network” with you more so than actually hang out. This is the Halo community today in a nut shell.

Bro.

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