I’m fitting to drop the mad links, yo. And I’m fairly sure none of these links goes to anything terrifying.
Buttercup Festival: Author/Illustrator Elliott G. Garbauskas asked if I could spread the word about his work, and I am only too happy to do so. Spare rendering and capricious dialogue make this one a keeper.
Muffin Films: Jon sent this one in too, as the “Pssst” film on the site reminded him of our “The Next Level” strip from last week. And “Pssst” is good, yes, but there are other great ones - she has another series as well, Big Bunny, which has bunnies.
Limp Bizkit Tryouts of TERROR: True tales of one guitarists’ attempt to join Limp Bizkit. Who knows if it was the complex plot to reap fans’ guitar riffs that they seem to imply it was - but I’d like to direct extra reader attention to the three page contract they had to sign. Just so you know, that sounds about like the contract you have to sign virtually any time your intellectual property rubs up against a large media corporation. As someone in a unique position to understand why, let me caution in the most strident way possible anyone who puts a pen to this sort of document.
See if those don’t treat you right.
I can’t tell you how many people ask me - on a daily basis - what exactly the “Fruit Fucker” featured in this strip does. The device is fairly straightforward, one might say, in its operation. I do hope we have resolved your curiosity with regards to this marvelous device, in addition to revealing how the Lithtech Engine came to be the black foundation of so much human misery. Well, don’t mention it. We’re just revealers, that’s all. We love to reveal.
At the risk of being hyperbolic, I received a fuck-ton of offers for my book. In the end, though - one offer shone through the night, like a shiny thing that you see, like, at night. You must understand, in the full regalia of my Tycho persona, the offers of ass come in faster than I could possibly service them. And the souls? Don’t talk to me about souls. I’ll bite just the top off of a soul, and throw the rest away. No, I need something bigger. Colder. More northern. So, when Nicole Campbell offered an entire Canada for my book, obviously this required my full consideration. As you can well imagine, this took a while. After all, this would be my first Canada - and I was sort of nervous. In the end I decided to take her up on it. To my many subjects in Canada, which I am fond of calling Tychonia, greetings. I think we’re going to get along great, provided one of you fuckers goes and gets me a big-ass bag of marshmallows.
If somebody can tell me why our crew plays the Objektive mode in Medal of Honor to the virtual exclusion of all else, I would really like to know. The network play isn’t all that great. One of the maps - Omaha Beach, or colloquially, Omaha Bitch - is hardly a level at all, it’s more like someone trying to convince you that taking a beach from Germans can be very, very hard. There’s no clear way to enact any kind of change to the server’s operation. Stability could be better. But when you’re playing one of the other three brilliant maps, sneaking around in an Axis compound or through the cracked husk of once civilized country, 2015‘s luxurious attention to detail pays out like a Vegas jackpot. The tension produced by these parameters (amazing levels, no respawn, superlative sound and character design) can be unreal. It’s fun for largely the same reasons Counter-Strike is fun, the whole “Death actually matters” or “You’re the last man” thing, but the World War II hook that contains all this action positively sparkles. It could sparkle more - with more obvious democracy mechanisms and cleaner network performance - but the fact that we put up with its foibles every Goddamn night, waiting through that stupid Omaha, well, it says something about it. Something good.
It’s plain to see that we aren’t the guys you want to come to for opinions on racing games. We’re male only in a purely biological sense, i.e. we’re not into cars, and largely prefer to imagine these strange machines mobilized by benevolent aardvarks. As such, a game like Motor City Online presents something of a dilemma - obviously, I’m curious about it whenever a genre penetrates into a massively multiplayer context. But I’m not in any position to know whether or not it’s actually good, for the reasons I’ve already explored. Luckily, reader Keith Mezzina is perhaps too enthusiastic about the subject matter, and I took the opportunity to grill him about MCO. The resultant entree is available here.
We’ll see yas Wednesday, check below for links of enduring flavour.
you’ve been hauling the wrong line