A game-by-game diary of my attempt to play every Nintendo game. From 8-Eyes to Zombie Nation and everything in between. Even that strange Christian game where you convert people by hitting them with fruit. Just wait. You'll see.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Arctic
Arctic is the kind of puzzle game that really leaves me puzzled as to how it got past the game testers without someone being shot in the process. It tags itself as being "Active Rail Playing". I tag it as being the next best thing to a severe concussion for those of us who have trouble getting to sleep. Please, dear readers, don't play this game before driving or operating heavy machinery. I had to take a two hour nap between playing the game and writing the review. It's like an injection of novacaine, straight to the frontal lobe of your brain. If you'll excuse me, I can't write any more for the moment as I have to go find a pair of pliers to remove the needles I shoved into my thigh in order to stay conscious long enough to finish this post.
Location: Terminus (Where All Rail Service Ends, Brother), Georgia, United States
I'm 27, a self-made oil, rail and steel tycoon whose combined income makes Bill Gates cry like a little bitch. I look like Johnny Depp, Christian Slater, or Brad Pitt, depending on which chatroom I'm in. I have a 19" prehensile penis that I use to hold my coffee while I type. I know where Jimmy Hoffa lives, and I understand the language of cats. I help old ladies cross the street and translate ethnic slurs for cuban refugees in my spare time. I sleep only one hour a night. I make ice cubes with the power of my mind. I can touch MC Hammer. I know every rivet in the Russian T-34 tank. I've advised Presidents, slept with movie stars, and can organize my sock drawer in less than 23 seconds.
And I still have time to do this blog.
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