17 April 2012

Grand Theft Dido

Who remembers the original Rayman game? If you're like me you have only fond memories of that little scarf wearing scamp, lots of bright colours and funny characters - this memory is a lie planted into our minds by Ubisoft to keep us paying for this bastard of a game nearly 20 years later.

I spent an hour last night (from 0110 - 0210 no less) trying not to smash the living room up in a fit of rage reserved for people who have just received a jumbo-steroid-enema because of the infuriating impossibility of (this is an actual level) punching a space-housewife in the face enough times to kill her whilst she used pots and pans to blow me up. It was at the point where I began to wish that the controller wasn't wireless so that I could use the chord to strangle the life out of the nearest living thing to me that I had an Epiphany.

A few years ago when people were blaming Grand Theft Auto for making people think it was acceptable in real life to pick up hookers, have sex with them in your car, pay them and then blow them up with a bazooka before casually reclaiming your cash and doing the wanted level down cheat, they were only half wrong. Grand Theft Auto is probably the least likely game to cause a murder. Personally, when I play GTA and slaughter tens of thousands of innocent bystanders whilst listening to Dido and eating Dairylea Lunchables, I feel calm. I have released my anger, much the same way as a stress ball would help with that. This does not mean I condone snipering off paramedics when they come to revive your victims in real life, that's probably not okay; what I'm saying is that I am less likely to lose my shit and pick up an Uzi after GTA than I am before.

Ray-fucking-man, however, is a completely different god-damned story. I get no satisfaction from doing the same level eleventy-thousand times before finally winging it only for some bitch-fairy godmother to grant me slightly faster running powers. Punching a housewife in the face loses its horror when it's a cute little yellow dude with floaty fists and a cheery disposition on a quest to save pink fluff-balls that's doing the punching. This game is the destroyer of worlds and as far as I can see has only 2 purposes: to create rage-infected monkeys or to make a super-Hulk. Other than that it should be avoided at all costs.

I for one will ground my children if I see them playing Rayman, taking all their games off of them apart from GTA because I will sleep easier knowing that they have exercised their anger with me by grenading a police station before getting some sleep.

Don't forget to follow me if you agree children should grow up knowing how cool a bazooka is!

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