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.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Asterix
Alas, my supply of vodka ran out, I started to sober up and Linux started to make less and less sense as I did. So, back to Microsloth until I get through the DTs.
Asterix. For some reason I remember playing this and enjoying it. It just goes to show you how easily amused I was as a kid. I probably ate dirt too. A game set in the height of the Roman Empire offers so many possibilities. The battles against the barbarians, the pleasure domes of Caligula, the political mastery of the Ceasers. Instead, Asterix places you in the shoes of a footsoldier with a hat that should have gotten him crucified and sends you after some fat guy in striped pants. Yea. You know what? Fuck Obelix, I want to throw Christians to the lions, goddamnit!
Instead, that feather-headed ponce runs around and punches people and runs into bouncing Roman Eagles on springs. The game came to a climax for me (and by climax I mean the sort one might experience with a 350 pound German woman with bad teeth named Helga) with the monkey. At some point there's a brief stage, and I can't figure out if it's meant to be a bonus stage or some sort of punishment for playing the game, where you're in a room with a monkey in a suit who throws barrels at you. There's something about that screenshot that just makes me want to add ground glass to my coffee...
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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