Since its 2013 release, the 90 Killer Queen arcade cabinets scattered across the states have become one of those underground sensations in urban gaming circles and among in-the-know indie connoisseurs. The 10-player competitive game has amassed a cult following, and is often breathlessly described as “perfect” to anyone who asks, “What’s Killer Queen?” If you aren’t among the lucky few, you may be forgiven for not knowing.
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Magic: The Gathering Arena isn’t the same as ripping open Magic packs with your childhood best friend on a sunny park bench, but it is the next best thing. The digital card game, available on PC, smooths down the coarser aspects of paper Magic games, making for an easy landing pad for newbies and a great user experience for Magic veterans.
Take a bag of potato chips — any brand, anywhere — and you more or less know what you’re going to get. Crispy, greasy salt and oil delivered via thin layers of starch, they make a mess of crumbs and grease. They’re terribly delicious, extremely difficult to stop eating once you’ve caved into the first, and likely to cause a carbohydrate crash and a sense of regret.
Potato chips are great and awful, and we all know what we’re getting into when we open a bag.
The way Untitled Goose Game’s goose moves, I think, is what makes it so endearing. Its self-assured waddle. The way it leans its feathered neck forward, with an almost innocent inquisitiveness, before turning on some poor guy’s sprinklers and drenching him.
How it flaps and flutters after its plans have been thwarted by a human, only to immediately compose itself and clap back with a look that says, “Actually, I’m the one who should be feeling offended after you took back the priceless vase I stole from you and was planning to shatter into a million pieces.” The goose is a piece of crap. I love the goose.
The best feeling you can possibly feel while playing a video game is the act of swinging a sword in Zelda. I came to this conclusion recently, while playing the new remake of Link’s Awakening and trying to pinpoint exactly what it is that makes me love Zelda games so much. The answer, I think, is the way Link swings his sword.
Daemon X Machina, out September 13 from Marvellous, is a game about gigantic customisable mechs. Here is another way to describe it: the worst filler episode of your favourite anime series. It is a mess of a game, with a story mode chock full of unintelligible cutscenes, repetitious anime tropes, and a core of mech gameplay that is highly customisable but starts to blend together due to repetitive gameplay and drawn out gunfights.
You can find an explainer for just about anything these days. Search for the title of any game, movie, or TV show in recent memory plus the word “ending” and you’ll find a video of someone explaining it. It doesn’t even have to be an ambiguous work like Bloodborne: This year’s Spider-Man: Far From Home, a movie that stops the action dead in its tracks more than once to explain what’s happening, has a very popular explainer on YouTube.
A few weeks ago I bought a can of Mountain Dew Amp Game Fuel and reviewed it. I hated it. It sucked. Evidently, this angered some people on the internet. I guess some folks really love Game Fuel? Between comments calling me names and people yelling at me for not liking an energy drink, some helpful folks suggested I try the other flavours. So I did just that.
We've done a lot of Lego-centric stuff in the past, but for the most part we write about the big extravagant sets. The ones that take a long time to build, cost a fair bit, and require some discipline to put together properly. Recently, though, Lego set over something completely different: two Lego Star Wars sets designed for kids as young as four years old. Specifically the X-Wing and the TIE Fighter.
I am generally suspicious of games that people say are “better with friends,” simply because most things are. Manual labour, paying taxes, repeatedly hitting your thumb with a hammer — these are all things that are “better with friends.” Humans are social creatures, and company can make both miserable and pleasant things a whole lot better. “Better with friends” is rarely a good selling point.