Better Than Ghost Rider, That's For Sure.

Having just finished Mass Effect (hereafter referred to as 'That Sex Game'), a few thoughts are in order.

Thought number one: Mass Effect is fucking great.

Thought number two: 2007 was a very, very good year for storytelling in games. Despite the best attempts of the scriptwriter on Assassins Creed, there has been a definite shift forward in what can be done, and what the effective minimum standards are for scripting, digital 'acting', and voiceover.

On Pornography.

So, I just played through the 'highly controversial' scenes in Mass Effect. I guess it's news to precisely no-one reading this, but the hysteria surrounding this from certain quarters is entirely bogus. Any kid who wants to sit through the seventeen hours of sci-fi tropes with the hope of seeing a pixelated nipple is going to be sorely dissapointed.

That kid is probably entirely imaginary. Still, he must be protected from all the dreaful things that are out there.

Espresso count: 10. I will soon find a religion, or found one. Whatever suits. Either way, know this: you are all fucking heathens.

A Spotters Guide.

A brief, and by no means complete, list of the types of people who shop in bookstores after the hours of darkness.

• Public Masturbators. The proud sort, not the furtive sort. The sort that believe a lifestyle magazine for public masturbators is just around the corner.


• The Mentally Unsound. It's as if someone drives a care in the community ambulance up to the front door, tips out the shrieking, urine-soaked contents, and drives off.


• The Savagely Foreign. Like the charming lady who tried to watch a DVD in one of our computers this evening.


• The Genuinely Lonely. For some reason, there are always two people who come in every evening, who are completely unconnected to one another. They sit, doing very little, until the time comes to leave. They do so, quietly and without a fuss. But I'm sure the thought must be nagging at the back of their minds: "Maybe I should just say hi. We could get a coffee."


• Thieves. Obvious really, but can't be ignored.


• Cottagers. One became a regular for a while, to the extent that he would always say hello if he saw one of our staff, even though we had to throw him out because he was going to be violently sodomised by a middle-aged man in our toilets.


• Normal People. Simply shopping for quality, intelligent books.

So, have I missed any really obvious ones?

Practical Advice.

When typing a URL, endeavour to use all of the required letters, and do so in the correct order. This will save you from a quarter of an hour as fruitless as the one I just spent.

And again, and again, and again...

I'm getting a bit of a theme today.

Just for the record, this is not what Mass Effect is about. This is a spectacularly idiotic right-wing knee-jerk response to the very idea that a form of legitimate media has (whisper it) sex in it.

Sadly, people will listen to this sort of nonsense. Oh sure, they'll forget the specifics, but they'll be left with some vague notion that games are bad, an' stuff.

My Knee Is Twitching.

Apparently the way we are to deal with violent crime in our society is to stop characters in games carrying knives.

I'm about old enough to remember the banning of the word 'ninja' from any media. This strikes me as just as well thought-out and practical.

Japan? This is Dave...

...and I'd like a word. specifically, I'd like to know why you did this:



As if the pun wasn't bad enough, here are the contents:



It contains, apart from the obvious, something called a 'Rotor'. I can only assume that this is a small outboard motor, and not... Oh no, wait, I got it.

Must Try Harder.

It has been a long day. You might even call it challenging, if you were prone to melodrama. The last few days have seen the customers in the store give off such an unnerving and constant buzz of inadequacy that this sort of thing comes as little surprise.

Shocking (with all apologies).

Synergy, taken to its logical extreme.

Evil...

Watching The Omega Man. It's a pretty dreadful film, and I would like you to know this:

Big Chuck Heston's bingo wings will destroy us all.

The Future of Warfare.

I need a lot of money, quickly, in order to set up a restaurant. After much deliberation, I've decided the best way to set about this is to establish a Privatised Military Company (PMC) with the others who may be in this deal.

As with malicious blogging, I assume anonymity is crucial in this sort of venture. Therefore, my name will not be involved at all with the proceedings. Instead, the company will be known as Shitheel McGee and His Travelling Banditos (PLC).

In order to deliniate ourselves from other PMCs, other than in the fact that we do not know how to fight, and have never, in fact, held guns, we will offer ourselves as the environmentally friendly mercenary corporation you can trust. We will be the 'green' solution for all your 'black ops' needs.

This basically shakes out as us only ever travelling by ferry. We can actually only afford to travel by ferry.

Basically, if you've got a foreign government to overthrow, and you don't need it done with any particular haste or competence, look us up. We will be very cheap indeed.

Back.

Back now. Exceptionally tired, having been in and out of airports all day on three hours sleep.

Give me a moment or two to snooze, and I will once again be available on the usual channels - phone, email, cryptic trail on facebook, and a good, old-fashioned smack in the chops.

Saints and Scholars (I am Neither).

I'm off to Ireland, and so will be incommunicado for a few days.

I Don't Learn.

A big part of Christmas for me, at least in recent years, is discovering just how horrible the Doctor Who Christmas special is. Every time I assume that this will be the year that they don't royally fuck up their most expensive episode, and every year I'm disappointed.

This year's was particularly vile. Amongst the offences:

• Every other line was an in-joke.


• A seemingly endless shot of The Doctor walking towards camera.


• Twee 'Magic of Christmas' bullshit.


• A huge, melodramatic "I'm the Doctor" speech.


• A need to come up with at least 8 deus ex machinas for when a sonic screwdriver just will not cut it.


• The whole script.

It's been pretty bad for the last two years , but this one was pretty much a crime. There. It's out of my system now.

False Advertising.

I've recently succumbed to some vague notions of modern male grooming. This is not to say that I am not some sort of grunting, hairy ape-boy, because I am. I just happen to be one that owns moisturiser. What I will say to those following my pioneering trail is this: dermatising microgranules is just a fancy term for very small grit. Do not be fooled.

In other news, I am occasionally stroking my signed His Dark Materials boxset (number 999 out of 1000, I'm sure that means something), and making little purring noises. My family are beginning to get used to the idea.

Work Haiku.

I have had enough
Boy, activate the device
They will soon know fear

Ghost Rider - Update 2.

Ghost Rider is not as bad as X-Men 3.

Ghost Rider - Update.

Do not watch Ghost Rider.

When Stunts Go Bad.

I'm watching Ghost Rider. I think it might be one of the worst films ever made. It barely makes sense, which is an achievement, given that it's a dumb action movie about a flaming skeleton chasing down the kid from American Beauty and his three emo friends.

It makes Daredevil look like a masterpiece. More when it's over.

I'm Doing Science.

Hello there, internets. I am not dead. In other news...