Well, now that every form of artistic expression known to man has been lifted up to heaven in a wondrous cataclysm of celestial fire, games have got some big shoes to fill. For a start, we’ll have to stand in for books, film, paintings, music, theatre, calligraphy, dance, sculpture, cakemaking, pottery, graffiti, architecture, cooking, hairdressing, and porn. It’s just us and rap, now, and we’ve got 6, 571, 978, 629 sinners to entertain. If we want to stand a chance in hell we’re going to have to stand firm, stick together, and broaden this two-bit genre until you could pilot the Goodyear blimp through it sideways.
First thing’s first: Space marines are out, crying is in. If we want to cater to the six and a half zuckillion art-deprived arseholes left in this pit we need mass appeal, and if Titanic has taught me anything it’s that mass appeal = tears and tears = billions of dollars and billions of dollars = a good down payment on the primitive spaceship we’ll need to find and infiltrate heaven. I know some of you people like space marines, but every person likes to cry. Listen, I’ve seen the figures, we are getting only 5.09 rivers from our very best heart-string rippers – that’s more that 563% less than James Cameron gets from walking into a room. Wake up!
Next step to plunging this shitty +3-to-Nerd genre right into the beating hearts of our populous is: Adorable animals. People, the math adds up, I’ve got the venn diagrams right in front of me: Humans want to have sex with animals.
Now I’m actually pretty impressed with the work being done here so far. My boys tell me there’s been a good 24.5% increase in the eye to head size ratio over the last couple of years, with a 34.4% uptake in adorable looks and 6079 :3‘s this year alone. But it’s not enough. Lolcats! Kittens waking up! Flying rainbow poptart cat (god rest his soul)! The competition does not sleep, it does not falter, it only snuggles and wuggles in implacable adorability until we all flop over dead. They WERE here before us and they WILL outlive us, people, so we’ve got to up our game, and by “Game” I mean “Animals” and by “Up” I mean “Have sex with”. Get to it.
Last item, now, and I think it’s time for a long hard look at ourselves. Get a mirror, put your game console in front of it, look it square in the eye and admit: No-one gives a shit about games. DON’T BACK OUT. SAY IT. SAY IT TO HIS FACE. You know it, I know it, and every single person who left this earth for that eternal orgy up in heaven today knows it. If they’re any good, why doesn’t everyone on earth play them already? Why do movies get an audience of septo-deca-zillion and games only get quadra-zillion? You know why: Because games are shit. And hey, maybe that was fine when we could all just keep this wretched stuff in our bedrooms and shove it under the closet when polite company comes around, but now that the big boys have gone we’ve got to take our man-shooting shit pie of a medium and throw it directly into the face of the world. It’s already been well-established that every person who doesn’t enjoy this hobby is directly hacking a chunk of flesh off its side; The only way we can get away from that and get this escapist poison into the world’s water supply is to rip out games and start from scratch.
B-b-b-but Jack, you blubber, how can we ever rebuild our horrible hobby? What do we start with?
Laughing babies. Ladies and gentlemen, the defense fucks an eagle.
