A privileged elite thrust from a dying world, an exiled criminal making his escape with a bounty of fuel and fireworks, or over-reliance on GPS leading to a Sunday drive gone terribly awry. Form your own story – you’re in space and there’s gonna be ‘splosions before the end. This is Reset by chatroom regular and talented person RoBurky, and these are the words he has to say about his creation: “‘Rest to Reset‘ by Trash80 (creator of the soundtrack…
When I was a kid I owned Half Life for three hours. It’s by no coincidence this timeframe aligns with how long it’d take for my soft plump legs to carry me back and forth from the shop where I’d feverishly fondle those boxes of potential glee, pluck a few of the best from their nest, hold them to my chest so as others could not grasp the games I’d graced with esteemed paw-marks, lengthily consider and ultimately identify the…
Farewell, everyone. Real life holds neither meaning nor significance for me since I discovered eRepublik. My final act within this incessantly real world will be the scribbling of this review, and then that’s it, I’m done. No more will the bonds of mortality restrain me – to eating, to exercise, to responsibility, I say “Pish!”.
You might have noticed that The Reticule‘s writers are comically malformed to the extent that before you’d see them at the county fair you’d probably sense a wave carried before them, a wave of barely stifled chuckles and the the gasps of children hushed by tactically placed elbow pokes. There’s a reason for this: we’re members of a particularly intimate family. (Note to self: must find out specifics of libel, esp. regarding the slagging-off of one’s associates). This family of…
I saw her from afar, and I knew it was love. Perhaps it was her shrill tones or the dank dungeon’s drips running down my spine, but I felt myself shiver with grim pleasure and anticipation, and I knew this would be an experience worth screaming about. I wasn’t wrong.
Ker-thwack! As the molerat’s mind mulches under the pressure of skull and sledgehammer, primal hormones secrete themselves from innately familiar glands. In the absence of suitably challenging woolly mammals, games barely satiate my musk-soaked blood-lust, yet they serve to postpone calamity sufficiently until: