Abject Suffering

It was the year 2170 and Detective Jack Cyber looked out his window at the fossil fuel burning cars on the street below. Teeming throngs of citizens on roller blades frequented the payphones below. Jack's pager buzzed insistently on his desk, right as a beautiful dame walked through his office's door, past the pneumatic tube document carrier. "There's a techno dragon on the loose, Jack, and you'll never guess what it shoots from its tail." "I'm going to need at least 5 more megabytes of RAM to handle this, sweet cheeks." The femme fatale faxed the purchase order, reluctantly.

You come crash into me, and I come into you in a dummy's dream. In a dummy's dream.

It's a Darkman's party, who could ask for more?

Kweh.

Robopond hungers. Robopond tires of the tubes making a mockery of his efforts. Robopond will make waves. Robopond will devour all. Robopond is hate.

There's only two ways this can go.

Two universal rules: Every dad will talk about Platoon, and never make eye contact with Kremlo.

Sometimes we get static over how little we talk about video games on this show. We fix that this week. We found a game so bad that it broke the show: Bubsy 3D.

We were walking the perimeter of the Crick estate, shoring up the tree line and clearing brush. Michael kicked aside some beer cans, and chuckled quietly to himself. "What's so funny?" I asked, wiping my brow to keep the sweat bees at bay. "Teens. It's always the teens" he said, looking back to the compound. My time with Michael had been short, but I knew to let it go. He'd seen his fair share of dudes with attitude, and I could leave it at that.

Mark another tally up on the "Canonical Worst Games" wall. Odds are good we're going to clear this pantheon out. One day a hard rain is gonna come, suffering style.