Crispy Gamer

Brendan Conway's blog

First Shot: Red Dead Redemption

Red Dead Redemption.jpg

This is not Grand Theft Auto IV, I whisper to myself as I toss a man off his horse and mount it with ease, all with a single, muscle-memory induced press of the Y button. This is not Grand Theft Auto IV, I echo later, when I look down at the radar and notice the all too familiar glowing red circle of law enforcement awareness. This is not Grand Theft Auto IV, I hiss through gritted teeth as I go on yet another journey from where I accepted a mission to the place where that mission actually begins, listening to the characters talking all the while.

"Collateral Murder" and the Razor Thin Boundary



The Beauteous Drifing of Interstellar Death Machines


NOTE: The italicized sections of this review are taken from actual play. While they are intended to give you some insight into the game, they may also contain certain spoilers. Should you wish to encounter all of the fantastic sights of the game firsthand for yourself, then you may want to avoid reading them.

Greetings, ugly meat bucket. I am Expert Kisser Captain Thaddeus Gorfboggle, Eighth in the line of illustrious Gorfboggles. I am the first Expert Kisser, however, and for that, I am proud.

The Problem of How to Treat Players


To the first game that treats me as an equal instead of a button-pressing fool, I shall give the prize. It's probably not the kind of prize that you'd want; indeed, the term “prize” may be something that really should not apply. Nonetheless, it is the pride associated with earning my alleged “prize” that a game designer should be interested in. 


In-Game Judgment Systems: Stoning Me To Death


I never know quite how I feel when a game tells me I suck. Okay, that's not true. I feel bad. Real bad. Shamed, you could say.

I know, you're surprised that a game could have the gall to tell the player that he or she sucks. I mean, maybe you're not surprised. Maybe you know I'm actually a pretty sucky gamer. Although I doubt it, what with my status as a cipher to all known identification agencies, after the events of February 23, 2005...a dark day, especially for that poor dachshund. 

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