I think I found the most pretentious video game review site ever.

[NJ]

Wow, it looks like Yahtzee has lost the pretentious bastard of the year award to who ever wrote that. that guy is a grade A twat.

Check out his review of stacking...look how he formatted his paragraphs.

http://killscreendaily.com/articles/reviews/review-stacking

I feel like this review is far more prickish than the other one. Especially since he's revolving his score he gave the game around the fact that he got motion-sickness while playing it. Seriously? Stop your whining and do your damn job.

I'm still trying to figure out in what possible way Stacking could give you motion sickness... Was he by any chance on a boat?

 

[Viking Incognito]

Spoiler

50 out of what?

Out of what? Out of what?!

"Out of what?" the words coursed their way through my caffeine addled brain until nothing but their haunting echo resounded in my mindspace, reverberating off the boundaries of my cerebrum like a ricocheting bullet twisted with a mystery.

"Out of what?" the words barked their dull cry at me, over and over again, pressing ever harder for an answer to a question that shook me to the very depths of my waking being; the demanding crack of a cocked pistol, the suffocating silence of the aftershock as the question ricocheted on.

"Out of what?" ... A tingling in the depths of my consciousness, a whisper from a flash of thought already lost amidst the depths of my brooding soul. Suddenly an image drifted before my mind's eye, the number 50 lost amidst a sea of digits cloaked in impossible geometry, a colour without form. Red.

With a sudden yearning rush the cogs creaked into action, complying finally with the siren's call. The bullet came to a stop. It had found its home amongst the dessicated wreckage of my subconscious, lost deep beneath the waves of my peripheral thoughts.

"Out of nothing!" I erupted. All at once a wave of dizzy nausea swam throughout my hunched form, neurotransmitters breathing their lifeless breath into my core. My heart sped, racing away from me like the explanation ever ahead of my reach. Always one step ahead of my reach.

The sunken vessel of my subconscious let sway its hold over one survivor, one insignificant morsel in the endless, infinite seas of buried secrets lying tantalisingly just outside my realm of cognizance. The thought bobbed up to crest the waves and, for a glimpse of a second, the rays of my sentience probed its tattered ethereal outline.

My heart now raced like never before, a steady, well oiled machine pumping nicotine and caffeine throughout my shaking system. Numeracy was a lie. The sudden snap of realisation forced the bile up my throat. The bitter taste of the truth burnt ever higher towards my gasping mouth, sucking desperately for air that wouldn't come. Air that was just out reach.

Just out of reach. The thought seemed peculiarly inviting, but I knew at the end of that thought lay something from which I instinctively wanted to turn. A burning bright light too terrifying to look upon for fear of blinding, too bold to ignore.

I faced the light. The world around me squirmed and dissolved like a worm in an acid bath. The clawing, hungering fingertips of the truth beyond eschewing my naive beliefs, my pathetic fantasies of reality.

I turned away. I was too afraid to go on.

"Out of what?" the question squealed.

Maybe now his review company will hire me to do reviews? See? I can type like a paint-huffing paranoid schizophrenic who's just been rejected by a publisher too.

That was amazing. Especially coming from a guy with Pedo Bear for his Avatar.

Glad you enjoyed it. Doubly glad that the Pedo Bear Suit threw your expectations and made you feel like, for a brief period, you were living in some bizarro alternate dimension where suddenly the people who went to college and the people who sat around jerking off had switched places.

That's why it's there.

...I am bad at interpenetrating text, but it seems like your mad at me for making assumptions based on your avatar. If that's the case, sorry.

 

[BGH122]

Spoiler

50 out of what?

Out of what? Out of what?!

"Out of what?" the words coursed their way through my caffeine addled brain until nothing but their haunting echo resounded in my mindspace, reverberating off the boundaries of my cerebrum like a ricocheting bullet twisted with a mystery.

"Out of what?" the words barked their dull cry at me, over and over again, pressing ever harder for an answer to a question that shook me to the very depths of my waking being; the demanding crack of a cocked pistol, the suffocating silence of the aftershock as the question ricocheted on.

"Out of what?" ... A tingling in the depths of my consciousness, a whisper from a flash of thought already lost amidst the depths of my brooding soul. Suddenly an image drifted before my mind's eye, the number 50 lost amidst a sea of digits cloaked in impossible geometry, a colour without form. Red.

With a sudden yearning rush the cogs creaked into action, complying finally with the siren's call. The bullet came to a stop. It had found its home amongst the dessicated wreckage of my subconscious, lost deep beneath the waves of my peripheral thoughts.

"Out of nothing!" I erupted. All at once a wave of dizzy nausea swam throughout my hunched form, neurotransmitters breathing their lifeless breath into my core. My heart sped, racing away from me like the explanation ever ahead of my reach. Always one step ahead of my reach.

The sunken vessel of my subconscious let sway its hold over one survivor, one insignificant morsel in the endless, infinite seas of buried secrets lying tantalisingly just outside my realm of cognizance. The thought bobbed up to crest the waves and, for a glimpse of a second, the rays of my sentience probed its tattered ethereal outline.

My heart now raced like never before, a steady, well oiled machine pumping nicotine and caffeine throughout my shaking system. Numeracy was a lie. The sudden snap of realisation forced the bile up my throat. The bitter taste of the truth burnt ever higher towards my gasping mouth, sucking desperately for air that wouldn't come. Air that was just out reach.

Just out of reach. The thought seemed peculiarly inviting, but I knew at the end of that thought lay something from which I instinctively wanted to turn. A burning bright light too terrifying to look upon for fear of blinding, too bold to ignore.

I faced the light. The world around me squirmed and dissolved like a worm in an acid bath. The clawing, hungering fingertips of the truth beyond eschewing my naive beliefs, my pathetic fantasies of reality.

I turned away. I was too afraid to go on.

"Out of what?" the question squealed.

Maybe now his review company will hire me to do reviews? See? I can type like a paint-huffing paranoid schizophrenic who's just been rejected by a publisher too.

That was amazing. Especially coming from a guy with Pedo Bear for his Avatar.

Glad you enjoyed it. Doubly glad that the Pedo Bear Suit threw your expectations and made you feel like, for a brief period, you were living in some bizarro alternate dimension where suddenly the people who went to college and the people who sat around jerking off had switched places.

That's why it's there.

...I am bad at interpenetrating text, but it seems like your mad at me for making assumptions based on your avatar. If that's the case, sorry.

Not in the slightest my apologetic chum!

I specifically chose the avatar to project certain negative connotations about my personality. It makes me chuckle when people go "Pedobear said what?!"

I wasn't being in the least sarcastic, I'm glad you enjoyed the discord between my literacy and my avatar. It's why the avatar's there.

 

[The_Echo]

Dude... they don't like anything there. The highest rating they've given is an 86 to Portal 2.

I don't think I've ever seen such a vastly disproportionate ratio between low scores and high scores in my life.

 

[Fwee]

I didn't like it exactly as a game review, but (mildly) enjoyed it as it's own article. I must admit there's the whole "borrowed from Jacob's Ladder/The Strangers I-might-be-dead-because-that-would-explain-the-weirdness" thing that let my brain relax and see where it was headed, but I think the guy was just having some fun.
Plus I don't really see a whole lot of pretentiousness. Either on that site or with Zero Punctuation. But maybe "pretentiousness" is being used with a looser definition.

 

[Viking Incognito]

Spoiler

50 out of what?

Out of what? Out of what?!

"Out of what?" the words coursed their way through my caffeine addled brain until nothing but their haunting echo resounded in my mindspace, reverberating off the boundaries of my cerebrum like a ricocheting bullet twisted with a mystery.

"Out of what?" the words barked their dull cry at me, over and over again, pressing ever harder for an answer to a question that shook me to the very depths of my waking being; the demanding crack of a cocked pistol, the suffocating silence of the aftershock as the question ricocheted on.

"Out of what?" ... A tingling in the depths of my consciousness, a whisper from a flash of thought already lost amidst the depths of my brooding soul. Suddenly an image drifted before my mind's eye, the number 50 lost amidst a sea of digits cloaked in impossible geometry, a colour without form. Red.

With a sudden yearning rush the cogs creaked into action, complying finally with the siren's call. The bullet came to a stop. It had found its home amongst the dessicated wreckage of my subconscious, lost deep beneath the waves of my peripheral thoughts.

"Out of nothing!" I erupted. All at once a wave of dizzy nausea swam throughout my hunched form, neurotransmitters breathing their lifeless breath into my core. My heart sped, racing away from me like the explanation ever ahead of my reach. Always one step ahead of my reach.

The sunken vessel of my subconscious let sway its hold over one survivor, one insignificant morsel in the endless, infinite seas of buried secrets lying tantalisingly just outside my realm of cognizance. The thought bobbed up to crest the waves and, for a glimpse of a second, the rays of my sentience probed its tattered ethereal outline.

My heart now raced like never before, a steady, well oiled machine pumping nicotine and caffeine throughout my shaking system. Numeracy was a lie. The sudden snap of realisation forced the bile up my throat. The bitter taste of the truth burnt ever higher towards my gasping mouth, sucking desperately for air that wouldn't come. Air that was just out reach.

Just out of reach. The thought seemed peculiarly inviting, but I knew at the end of that thought lay something from which I instinctively wanted to turn. A burning bright light too terrifying to look upon for fear of blinding, too bold to ignore.

I faced the light. The world around me squirmed and dissolved like a worm in an acid bath. The clawing, hungering fingertips of the truth beyond eschewing my naive beliefs, my pathetic fantasies of reality.

I turned away. I was too afraid to go on.

"Out of what?" the question squealed.

Maybe now his review company will hire me to do reviews? See? I can type like a paint-huffing paranoid schizophrenic who's just been rejected by a publisher too.

That was amazing. Especially coming from a guy with Pedo Bear for his Avatar.

Glad you enjoyed it. Doubly glad that the Pedo Bear Suit threw your expectations and made you feel like, for a brief period, you were living in some bizarro alternate dimension where suddenly the people who went to college and the people who sat around jerking off had switched places.

That's why it's there.

...I am bad at interpenetrating text, but it seems like your mad at me for making assumptions based on your avatar. If that's the case, sorry.

Not in the slightest my apologetic chum!

I specifically chose the avatar to project certain negative connotations about my personality. It makes me chuckle when people go "Pedobear said what?!"

I wasn't being in the least sarcastic, I'm glad you enjoyed the discord between my literacy and my avatar. It's why the avatar's there.

I suck so bad at determining tone of voice through text. but my own handicaps aside, your pretty funny.

 

[Brightzide]

I dont disagree with some of the things he says...I just despise his writing style. I just couldnt read a review like that regularly. Its just taxing on the mind. Its numbing, and stupid. A man that pretentious may think he sounds intelligent, when the fact is, he just sounds unintelligent and like an utter twat. QUICK EVERYONE! Disregard him together! As a community. That way we guarantee his failure!

 

[Ham Blitz]

Was that even a review? He basically mentioned part of the story, mentioned how people know about your deeds (since they were probably in the paper) and claims it's some purgatory conspiracy. Then he goes on to describe how he got out of a car and ran for a while. I feel like I just read some transcendentalist's writing more than learning anything about the game.

 

[Sparrow]

Wow, is all I can say. No mention of the impressive face work? The amazing voice acting? The brilliant script writing? Sure, these things might be more to certain people's tastes than others but there's no denying that it's all above average for games in general. What an asshat.

50 out of what?

A million, judging by this guys standards.

 

[Ian Thompson]

It's his interpretation to the game. True, I think he over-thought it, and was far too philosophical about the whole deal, but I thought it was an interesting point.
Not one I agree with, but an interesting point.

 

[BGH122]

Spoiler

50 out of what?

Out of what? Out of what?!

"Out of what?" the words coursed their way through my caffeine addled brain until nothing but their haunting echo resounded in my mindspace, reverberating off the boundaries of my cerebrum like a ricocheting bullet twisted with a mystery.

"Out of what?" the words barked their dull cry at me, over and over again, pressing ever harder for an answer to a question that shook me to the very depths of my waking being; the demanding crack of a cocked pistol, the suffocating silence of the aftershock as the question ricocheted on.

"Out of what?" ... A tingling in the depths of my consciousness, a whisper from a flash of thought already lost amidst the depths of my brooding soul. Suddenly an image drifted before my mind's eye, the number 50 lost amidst a sea of digits cloaked in impossible geometry, a colour without form. Red.

With a sudden yearning rush the cogs creaked into action, complying finally with the siren's call. The bullet came to a stop. It had found its home amongst the dessicated wreckage of my subconscious, lost deep beneath the waves of my peripheral thoughts.

"Out of nothing!" I erupted. All at once a wave of dizzy nausea swam throughout my hunched form, neurotransmitters breathing their lifeless breath into my core. My heart sped, racing away from me like the explanation ever ahead of my reach. Always one step ahead of my reach.

The sunken vessel of my subconscious let sway its hold over one survivor, one insignificant morsel in the endless, infinite seas of buried secrets lying tantalisingly just outside my realm of cognizance. The thought bobbed up to crest the waves and, for a glimpse of a second, the rays of my sentience probed its tattered ethereal outline.

My heart now raced like never before, a steady, well oiled machine pumping nicotine and caffeine throughout my shaking system. Numeracy was a lie. The sudden snap of realisation forced the bile up my throat. The bitter taste of the truth burnt ever higher towards my gasping mouth, sucking desperately for air that wouldn't come. Air that was just out reach.

Just out of reach. The thought seemed peculiarly inviting, but I knew at the end of that thought lay something from which I instinctively wanted to turn. A burning bright light too terrifying to look upon for fear of blinding, too bold to ignore.

I faced the light. The world around me squirmed and dissolved like a worm in an acid bath. The clawing, hungering fingertips of the truth beyond eschewing my naive beliefs, my pathetic fantasies of reality.

I turned away. I was too afraid to go on.

"Out of what?" the question squealed.

Maybe now his review company will hire me to do reviews? See? I can type like a paint-huffing paranoid schizophrenic who's just been rejected by a publisher too.

That was amazing. Especially coming from a guy with Pedo Bear for his Avatar.

Glad you enjoyed it. Doubly glad that the Pedo Bear Suit threw your expectations and made you feel like, for a brief period, you were living in some bizarro alternate dimension where suddenly the people who went to college and the people who sat around jerking off had switched places.

That's why it's there.

...I am bad at interpenetrating text, but it seems like your mad at me for making assumptions based on your avatar. If that's the case, sorry.

Not in the slightest my apologetic chum!

I specifically chose the avatar to project certain negative connotations about my personality. It makes me chuckle when people go "Pedobear said what?!"

I wasn't being in the least sarcastic, I'm glad you enjoyed the discord between my literacy and my avatar. It's why the avatar's there.

I suck so bad at determining tone of voice through text. but my own handicaps aside, your pretty funny.

No worries, we all do. It's why people have started to use the '/sarcasm' denoter. Although that just seems overly aggressive to me. It seems like the difference between looking someone hatefully in the eyes and going over and gouging out their eyes.

 

[Baneat]

50 out of what?

Out of what? Out of what?!

"Out of what?" the words coursed their way through my caffeine addled brain until nothing but their haunting echo resounded in my mindspace, reverberating off the boundaries of my cerebrum like a ricocheting bullet twisted with a mystery.

"Out of what?" the words barked their dull cry at me, over and over again, pressing ever harder for an answer to a question that shook me to the very depths of my waking being; the demanding crack of a cocked pistol, the suffocating silence of the aftershock as the question ricocheted on.

"Out of what?" ... A tingling in the depths of my consciousness, a whisper from a flash of thought already lost amidst the depths of my brooding soul. Suddenly an image drifted before my mind's eye, the number 50 lost amidst a sea of digits cloaked in impossible geometry, a colour without form. Red.

With a sudden yearning rush the cogs creaked into action, complying finally with the siren's call. The bullet came to a stop. It had found its home amongst the dessicated wreckage of my subconscious, lost deep beneath the waves of my peripheral thoughts.

"Out of nothing!" I erupted. All at once a wave of dizzy nausea swam throughout my hunched form, neurotransmitters breathing their lifeless breath into my core. My heart sped, racing away from me like the explanation ever ahead of my reach. Always one step ahead of my reach.

The sunken vessel of my subconscious let sway its hold over one survivor, one insignificant morsel in the endless, infinite seas of buried secrets lying tantalisingly just outside my realm of cognizance. The thought bobbed up to crest the waves and, for a glimpse of a second, the rays of my sentience probed its tattered ethereal outline.

My heart now raced like never before, a steady, well oiled machine pumping nicotine and caffeine throughout my shaking system. Numeracy was a lie. The sudden snap of realisation forced the bile up my throat. The bitter taste of the truth burnt ever higher towards my gasping mouth, sucking desperately for air that wouldn't come. Air that was just out reach.

Just out of reach. The thought seemed peculiarly inviting, but I knew at the end of that thought lay something from which I instinctively wanted to turn. A burning bright light too terrifying to look upon for fear of blinding, too bold to ignore.

I faced the light. The world around me squirmed and dissolved like a worm in an acid bath. The clawing, hungering fingertips of the truth beyond eschewing my naive beliefs, my pathetic fantasies of reality.

I turned away. I was too afraid to go on.

"Out of what?" the question squealed.

Maybe now his review company will hire me to do reviews? See? I can type like a paint-huffing paranoid schizophrenic who's just been rejected by a publisher too.

You deserve so much credit I don't believe I have enough in stock.

 

[BGH122]

50 out of what?

Out of what? Out of what?!

"Out of what?" the words coursed their way through my caffeine addled brain until nothing but their haunting echo resounded in my mindspace, reverberating off the boundaries of my cerebrum like a ricocheting bullet twisted with a mystery.

"Out of what?" the words barked their dull cry at me, over and over again, pressing ever harder for an answer to a question that shook me to the very depths of my waking being; the demanding crack of a cocked pistol, the suffocating silence of the aftershock as the question ricocheted on.

"Out of what?" ... A tingling in the depths of my consciousness, a whisper from a flash of thought already lost amidst the depths of my brooding soul. Suddenly an image drifted before my mind's eye, the number 50 lost amidst a sea of digits cloaked in impossible geometry, a colour without form. Red.

With a sudden yearning rush the cogs creaked into action, complying finally with the siren's call. The bullet came to a stop. It had found its home amongst the dessicated wreckage of my subconscious, lost deep beneath the waves of my peripheral thoughts.

"Out of nothing!" I erupted. All at once a wave of dizzy nausea swam throughout my hunched form, neurotransmitters breathing their lifeless breath into my core. My heart sped, racing away from me like the explanation ever ahead of my reach. Always one step ahead of my reach.

The sunken vessel of my subconscious let sway its hold over one survivor, one insignificant morsel in the endless, infinite seas of buried secrets lying tantalisingly just outside my realm of cognizance. The thought bobbed up to crest the waves and, for a glimpse of a second, the rays of my sentience probed its tattered ethereal outline.

My heart now raced like never before, a steady, well oiled machine pumping nicotine and caffeine throughout my shaking system. Numeracy was a lie. The sudden snap of realisation forced the bile up my throat. The bitter taste of the truth burnt ever higher towards my gasping mouth, sucking desperately for air that wouldn't come. Air that was just out reach.

Just out of reach. The thought seemed peculiarly inviting, but I knew at the end of that thought lay something from which I instinctively wanted to turn. A burning bright light too terrifying to look upon for fear of blinding, too bold to ignore.

I faced the light. The world around me squirmed and dissolved like a worm in an acid bath. The clawing, hungering fingertips of the truth beyond eschewing my naive beliefs, my pathetic fantasies of reality.

I turned away. I was too afraid to go on.

"Out of what?" the question squealed.

Maybe now his review company will hire me to do reviews? See? I can type like a paint-huffing paranoid schizophrenic who's just been rejected by a publisher too.

You deserve so much credit I don't believe I have enough in stock.

Why thank you friendo, your undying adulation is credit enough. Surely, when you one day sit your child down upon your lap and tell him or her why you choose to bestow upon him or her such an unwieldy name as 'BGH122', you will gaze fondly into your child's bright, round eyes and recount the tale of the escapist whose magniloquent verbosity touched you to your very core.

 

[Artina89]

Forgive me for sounding stupid, but it's one in the morning in Britain, and it's probably not the best time to be reading a review, but I kinda forgot it was a review about halfway through. I always thought that reviews were meant to be at least a little informative but I didn't find this one informative at all. Also, what was with the 50? 50 out of what? 60?, 70?, 100?. I must admit I found it to be a good piece of writing, but an absolutely terrible review. Maybe someone should cut the guy loose so he could go off and write short stories or something. That seems to be what he wants to do.

 

[michiehoward]

Wow, what a twat waffle, one paragraph in i wanted to rip my eyes out. And its not well written, its lacks flow. Too wanna be punchy for my taste. Douchebag.

 

[The Random One]

Is it weird that I read the topic title and imagined I would probably love the review, read it and did love it?

I did that because I'm a hipster.

Also, stop complaining about Extra Credits... without me.

 

[Smertnik]

I quite liked it actually.

 

[KILGAZOR]

Going in to this thread, I was expecting the OP to be some douche putting a link back to the homepage of this very site, with the words "THIS USER HAS BEEN BANNED FOR THIS POST" in red right underneath it. That would've made me laugh. But sadly, it was not to be.

OT: What the fuck did I just read? The title says review but it sounded more like a crazy fan theory more than anything else. Did he even talk about the gameplay? If he wanted to make a point through this article that the game was unimmersive, then great, but immersion isn't the only aspect a game has. Is it fun? Is it worth the price tag? Is my police partner a girl, and if so, can I bang her?

 

[face_head_mouth]

As soon as I seen the word "pretentious", I thought you were going to link to this site [http://www.actionbutton.net/]. Tim Rogers, man.

Kill Screen sounded familiar, but I couldn't remember why. Now I remember that I have
an issue of their magazine, which costs $20 but is very thick and printed on glossy paper
(like a trade paperback of comics).

I'm actually really glad for this kind of writing in the videogame world. We already have so
many Consumer Report-style reviews that it's nice to see writing that doesn't treat a game
like a product. I mean, if we're going to entertain the belief that games have artistic merit,
then they should at least sometimes be written about as if they do.

A critic isn't (or at least doesn't have to be) someone that you merely agree or disagree with;
part of a critic's job is to get you think about a piece of media in a way that you hadn't considered
before, or in a way that's different from your own point-of-view.

 

[YawningAngel]

The tone is clearly ironic. They have no bloody idea how to review a game, but I quote enjoyed reading it.