Scorn is frustrating, because it's almost quite good.
With how striking the whole of the game's atmosphere is in the audio and visuals, it's very apparent this was the bulk of the game's focus. There's a pleasant restraint with the puzzles in that they do not feel so overly clever nor very explicitly explained - Though they could be more involved, and there's a handful of instances of tedious map scraping to make sure you've explored every possible solution, (Especially if you're playing on the extremely poorly supported Ultrawide mode which crops your view) generally the pace is kept going so that Scorn can immerse you in its upsetting environments and tell it's completely non-verbal story.

...Until that pace is often brought to a screeching halt by the game's combat sections. Scorn's combat itself isn't the worst, but even for a survival horror approach, feels unbalanced thanks to clunky item swapping, poor communication on how items function, and unsanctionable checkpointing system. - I appreciate the game's commitment to feeling alien and otherworldly with its lack of dialogue, semi-internal penises, and strictly foreign UI and iconography, but I would have hoped the encounter design would at least subtley-but-not-too-subtley explain how it wants you to play. Despite the slog, there are some very excellent stretches here; Enough to give you hope, but not enough to completely turn things around.

Scorn could be greatly improved with a single patch that addresses some of the game's balance and features like Ultrawide support or an FoV slider. As far as I can tell, this is Ebb Software's debut title and though it's uneven throughout, it is nonetheless impressive. Looking back at my screenshots and video clips, it looks even better than I remembered while in-game, and performance was excellent without as much as a single technical mishap. Scenes are consistently framed with an extreme amount of consideration and detail, you could sell me a photobook of just in-game screenshots, and It's not a game I think I will be mentally offloading wholesale any time soon.

All of Scorn's seams really lie with a small handful of very important design decisions that should have gone the other way. I'm eagerly looking forward to whatever this development team has in store next, and I'm not even sure I need it to have either puzzles or combat.

If it weren't for the Doom name attached to it, Doom 3 would have already been forgotten about along with every other mediocre first person shooter from the 2000s.

In some ways Doom 3 is a logical progression from iD Software's Doom 64 - Furthering the dark and horror aesthetic of that game and sprinkling it into the mechanics themselves. Perhaps if Doom 3 committed to being a true survival horror shooter, it could have worked, but the end result is "Kind of Doom, But Slow" instead.

After the allure of the horror aesthetic quickly dissipates within the first 30 minutes, you find yourself trudging through hours of same-looking dark sci-fi corridors, shooting awfully unsatisfying guns at bullet spongy enemies that result in even less satisfying death animations.

The game improves as more demon types show up, but even appreciating those comes with a few asterisks. Most enemies have a radical redesign, and very few of those land. The coolest monsters in Doom 3 are those original to this entry, though I still can't tell if it was their raw cool factor, or their novelty that charmed me.

Doom 3 weaves together all of its levels in a somewhat seamless-feeling progression throughout a UAC Mars base. This is part of the reason so much of the game's levels look and feel the same, and in some ways it reminds me of a poor man's Half-Life. Doom 3 also introduces cutscenes and voiced characters in an attempt to weave together a narrative, though honestly I fail to see the value in the attempt, as Doom 3 practically doesn't have a story anyway.

At times Doom 3's environments boast impressive detail and interactivity, but that too gets old quick. Scouring through emails to find codes, or fiddling with janky control panels to control various contraptions once again feels like extra, unnecessary steps to the Doom formula of Hit Button, Find Key.

Doom 3 experiments with a lot of things new for Doom, but never fully commits to its new ideas. Anything that I can almost appreciate comes with some sort of caveat. Sure, for the time on a technical level, Doom 3 was graphically impressive. But aesthetically it looks like a fake video game you might see someone playing in a movie or TV show.

Doom 3 is ugly, slow, and unsatisfying. It is the perfect companion to the 2005 Doom movie.

The Delicious Last Course dials up the creativity, challenge, and artistry in a game that was already filled to the brim with these qualities. Its climax is not as explosive or rewarding, but the new parry challenges and map puzzles give the new DLC Island its own pleasant identity and pace compared to the base game.

The biggest additions from The Delicious Last Course are the ones that permeate the rest of the game: New weapons, new charms, a brand new playable character, and a new (If not as good) title screen theme add plenty of variety and breath new strategies to the base game's previously established levels.

For such a low buy-in, Cuphead: The Delicious Last Course can easily be called essential for anyone with enthusiasm for the original.

One of the stranger American English phrases I have noticed that seems to exclusive to a certain pocket of Gen-X'ers and Millenials is the rhetorical question, "Am I being Punk'd right now?"

I'm entirely certain the first time I heard this phrase used in this way was in the 2007 film Transformers, directed by Michael Bay. As a 9 year old at the time, even I thought that was a weird cultural reference to make. I had both seen Ashtons Kutcher’s Punk'd on TV before, and could most probably identify Ashton Kutcher in a lineup if you had asked me to at the time, and yet it still stood out to me like a sore thumb. I admit I have only seen Transformers twice - Once on a pirated-and-edited-for-my-mormon-neighbor DVD, and once again on a roadtrip on one of those headrest mounted displays in my mom’s SUV. I may be misremembering this gag, or even inventing it entirely. I think the joke was that referencing Ashton Kutcher’s Punk’d , even in 2007, was a clumsy attempt at seeming cool, snappy, and in tune with the younger generation was inherently a goofy thing that only old people like Shia LeBouf’s white haired professor would do. This was my first recollection of the phrase “Am I being Punk’d right now?”/”Are you Punk’d-ing me right now?”/”I totally thought you were Ashton Kutcher’s Punk’d-ing us”/etc.” being used outside of the context of an actual episode of Punk’d, and since then I have kept track of more or less every time someone else has invoked the cultural touchstone that is Mr. Kutcher’s incredibly famous and popular prank show. On 4 separate occasions, 2 of them being from my mom, someone has rhetorically asked me if there were hidden cameras recording them in exasperation over the absurdity of whatever was happening in that instant. All 4 of those times, it came from someone older than be by at least one generational label, if not two. All 4 of those times, I could not resist but be possessed by my inner mean spirit, and would poke fun at the use of such a reference.

But, perhaps, I am nothing if not my mom’s child.

“Am I Getting Punk’d Right Now?” an internal monologue rushed to the forefront of my conscience to shout, as the McDonald’s employee walked up to my car window literally less than 10 seconds from when I had pulled into the mobile order pickup parking spot and tapped “Here” in the McDonald’s app to confirm that I had arrived to The Grimace’s birthday celebration.

Stunned by the sheer speed at which the kind worker had thrust the intoxicatingly purple milkshake and neatly presented brown and red bag containing one medium order of fries and a big mac into my hands, I barely had the time to process the social transaction, nor can I recollect the event in any detail beyond this. I don’t remember what he said to me, or what I said back. Did I pull a classic rookie mistake and respond to an “Enjoy your meal” with “You Too”? I have no way of knowing. The drive home with my new meal in tow was equally as expedient, as I hit every green light on the way back, turning a 5 minute drive (if my sense of recollecting my previous McDonald’s experiences at this location is to be trusted) into a brisk 2 minute drive.

Not 10 minutes prior did I even conceive the notion that I would be celebrating a birthday that night. I wasn’t even aware there was a birthday to celebrate until I had seen the news on Twitter. But, a birthday only comes once a year, and I hadn’t yet eaten dinner. So it was decided that I needed the purple milkshake. This series of events resolved so rapidly that I had no sense to anticipate, guess, or ask what flavor such a milkshake could be. A Big Mac, some french fries - These were familiar to me. Practically staples of a broke teenage Me that did not always have the sense of security when it came to home cooked meals. I have no illusions over the McDonald’s corporation being a “friend” or anything, and if Ray Kroc got what he deserves he is rotting in hell at this very moment, but I think the countless trips to McDonalds throughout every stage of my life and my sensory nostalgia for the sickening stench of McDonald’s cheese, grimy Nintendo 64 and Playstation 2 controllers, and unholy Playplace plastics may have played some part in my ease of willingness to place an order for this meal on my phone. As if I had all of those memories and senses of memories unlocked by a now viral photograph of a young Grimace with missing teeth standing inside of a McDonald’s restaurant. Devilishly clever marketing from the McDonald’s corporate team.

But i’m rambling now - The purple milkshake. Subconsciously, I probably assumed it was a purple sweet potato flavor, like Taro or the Filipino favorite Ube. Before taking the dive into the shake tasting experience itself, I observed two qualities it possessed:

Observation 1.) This milkshake was notably runny. I don’t often order milkshakes with my food, particularly at McDonald’s, so I’m not sure if this was par for the course. Not that I’m complaining, but the image in my head of a milkshake is something thick, that you could almost turn upside down with little to no spillage, as the stylings of Dairy Queen’s Blizzard tend to boast. No, this shake was either shook too hard, was prepared well in advance of my arrival and melted, or the milkshake machine was experiencing some kind of issues. Fortunately, my milkshake was still cold and thick enough not to be a frosty soup, but it did not instill confidence in quality of the product.

Observation 2.) The milkshake was either underfilled, or they did not give me a standard helping of whipped cream. No doubt Grimace’s Birthday was a popular thing to celebrate, if my Twitter timeline as of right now is any indication, so I suppose I could see an impromptu shortening of the milkshake and whipped cream rationing. Disappointment is too strong of a word to describe how I felt seeing my milkshake filled well below the clearance provided by the domed lid even with the whipped cream on top, but it was once again an indicator to not expect this milkshake to be more than “Okay” at best. It was his birthday, so I suppose I can only ask for so much from Grimace.

As I pulled suction from the straw, the not-as-thick-as-i’d-have-expected milkshake flooded my mouth. The experience that played out there did so in multiple distinct stages. For a fraction of a section, surprise at the blue-berryish flavor, relinquished by an “Oh well obviously”, for a few fractions more. A whole second later, confusion, or even bafflement at the choice to flavor a dairy dessert with fruit - Something I associated more with frozen, icee-like treats, and then another mental concession once I had remembered that Strawberry Milkshakes are indeed very popular as well. Still, the creamy blueberry sensation was new to me, and I could not tell if I enjoyed it or not. Before I could come to a conclusion, the oral sensation had begun to shift.

The flavor of the milkshake migrated from a creamy and sweet berry flavor engulfing my cheeks and the flat of my tongue, to something a bit more acidic and sharp onto the vertical sides and tip of it, almost as if I was consuming real fruit. This formed a sort of feedback loop where that sourness, that hint of zing would begin to make my mouth water, which would in turn only make the zing that currently inhabited my tastebuds all the more potent, until the milkshake eventually found its way back to my throat and died down.

The opening act of the milkshake was nothing to write home about, boringly sweet and a little confusing. But the climax of this taste, as fleeting as it was, was the real deal. It was a high so potent that my initial apprehensiveness towards it quickly faded. And so I took another sip. Then another three more sips. Amazed at the novelty of the shake, I had to force myself to be reminded that if I did not eat the rest of my meal soon, it would become cold. If you have ever had cold fries from McDonald’s, you should know that in this context, cold food is basically inedible food. Perhaps not even really “food” anymore.

Crispy, salty french fries, a tangy big mac, and a new wondrous non-euclidean milkshake. What’s not to love about this gluttony of riches?

As it turns out, this was actually the achilles’ heel of the Grimace Birthday meal. The delight and novelty of the milkshake was fragile. It couldn’t even settle on what it was inside of my mouth when it had no competing consistencies, textures, or flavors. Against the wave of the monolithically consistent Big Mac and accompanying fries, the milkshake had stood no chance. All those years of eating McDonald’s had cemented these flavors into the brain of my tongue and had selfishly completely and utterly enveloped my tastebuds. Been there, done that. Is this really all there is? McDonald’s is what I would consider to be comfort food, in that a simple fulfillment and instant gratification of my craving for it can temporarily and superficially soothe some of my troubles at any given time, but at the cost of contributing very directly to some of my other troubles. I would go on to finish my meal, but I did not feel very comforted this time around, even discounting whatever the usual physical consequences I would be experiencing.

The purple Grimace Milkshake simply did not compliment the rest of the meal. Perhaps if I had ordered the McNugget version of this meal, things would be different. Perhaps if my single mother at the time could have afforded to pay for me to join my local football program as a child, things would be different.

But I did not join a football program, and I did not order the McNuggets.

I know better than to worry about the literally infinite what-if scenarios in my life, and yet, I still do. I suspect even the most carefree, adventurous individuals do the same; Left, instead of Right; Soup, instead of Salad; The risk of rejection outweighing the possibility of returns of boundless joy.


This is human nature. As humans, we are all bound to the nebulous construct of Time. If humans could experience infinite Time, it stands to reason to myself that each infinite what-if scenario involving them would transpire. But whether we are conscious of it or not, Time is something we are always losing. To generations older than me, perhaps Ashton Kutcher’s Punk’d is on the same level of novelty as The Internet, Fidget Spinners, and self driving cars that explode. Even something as monotonous and unchanging as the McDonald’s menu is not immune to the forces of time, being unable to help but invoke and exploit the ghosts of times past, either by way of intentional propaganda or sensory happenstance from the individual, with endless gimmick promotion after gimmick promotion, of which their appeal is propped up entirely by the limited Time they are available for.

Time has the power to ambush us at our most vulnerable moments. I was blindsided by Grimace’s birthday arriving, just as I have become increasingly often blindsided by the birthdays of those around me, and most frighteningly blindsided by my very own birthday. I can still remember as if it were yesterday what those old McDonald’s restaurants in that photograph of young Grimace looked and smelled like. I’ve lived through at least 2 total brand aesthetic revitalization efforts from McDonald’s, and have seen the same location remodeled to fit this branding more than once, with each successive remodel less potent in my memory than the last. The effects of this McTime Dilation reach me even in as brief an interaction as pulling into a parking spot to pick up my food. References to Ashton Kutcher’s Punk’d is something old people do. I… Am getting Old now.

Where did the time go?

The Grimace Birthday meal at McDonald’s is a grave reminder of my own mortality.
The meal itself is a limited time offer, as is the fleeting bliss of the sharpest notes of His milkshake on my tongue. The new sensations the human experience may offer me are always suppressed and truncated by Time’s Constant, just as the purple Grimace milkshake is suppressed and truncated by a Big Mac and Fries. It is an unavoidable tragedy, but one that either inspires or scares me to make the most out of the miniscule amount of Time I have left in the greater cosmic calendar. Should I get to experience the Grimace Birthday meal once again, I will savor it, unperturbed by the prospects of the main course.

I did not play this video game.

Halo Infinite wears its Combat Evolved inspiration on its sleeve, but feels more like a "greatest hits" of the entire franchise, with surprising deep cuts from all over.

Halo Infinite's open world section takes a little bit to get going and is slow to convince the audience of it's value, but I'm not sure that value is really better off than a traditional linear level progression with unique set pieces. Liberating FOBs and taking out High Value Targets is alright busy work, but the campaign's natural story progression seldom encourages you to go out of your way to do them, and the majority of them are only really worth playing because, well, it's more Halo.

Infinite's best combat encounters are hands down the linear Forerunner dungeons - Some excellently satisfying combat design here is unfortunately squandered however, as the game's structure strips each of these more higher quality combat encounters of an identity they might have had in a more traditional Halo title, with tightly planned out vehicle sections, scripted set-pieces, and brilliant musical queues; Some of the combat in Infinite is the best it's been in the franchise, but upon reminiscing over it, I simply couldn't tell you what level it was a part of, or even distinguish between the levels at all.

The game's open combat is fine, but lacks the luxury of refinement given how open ended those scenarios are. Disappointingly, many enemy classes and bosses detract from the core combat loop by becoming damage sponges, that don't react very interestingly to taking damage, while others seem to only be able to take as much damage as their vanilla versions - It's inconsistent, and not very satisfying. It's true that Halo Infinite has the best boss fights of the entire franchise, but that's a notably low bar to clear.

Music is very high quality, if not the most bombastic or striking. The narrative is mostly pretty thin, offering a B plot that lore savvy fans will enjoy, and an A plot, that while well performed and decently written, doesn't satisfy as much as it could.

Halo Infinite is 343's best Halo to date when considered from all angles, but doesn't quite reach the highs of the original trilogy, or perhaps even the very highest of highs from the other titles, but it is, if nothing else, very solid.

Also it's not Halo 5 so that's a win lol

It's hard to criticize the single most influential FPS of all time without sounding nitpicky or contrarian, but the truth is that while Doom is masterful in many ways, it very apparently left room for improvement, as evidenced by Ultimate Doom's additional episode, Thy Flesh Consumed, and the expansiveness of user-made .WADs.

Knee-Deep in the Dead and The Shores of Hell are simplistic, but brisk, constantly keeping the player flowing through the enticing action that Doom's menagerie of demons and arsenal of weapons provide.

Inferno offers some more complex levels, but at the cost of that aforementioned flow, and can often feel obtuse or bloated.

Ultimate Doom's addendum in Thy Flesh Consumed proves that while Doom's base is strong, what really elevates it is excellent level design. Not every level here is a hit, but most offer compact, yet intricate almost puzzle-like levels that require problem solving above just twitch reaction in combat.

Throughout Doom, there are aspects I question, such as certain power-ups resulting in headache-inducing color overlays on the screen, or the game's obsession with making you wade through puddles of toxic sludge in what begins to feel like every other level, but by playing through the game, it's no mystery it was the sensation it was.

Its easy to be cynical of just about every aspect DEATH STRANDING has on offer, but against all odds it is an extremely charming, emotional, and satisfying game.

At some point it is tempting to ask "Why is this not a movie?", or to reduce it to a "walking simulator" - Only fair considering the sheer magnitude of cutscenes on offer, and the gameplay is quite literally walking, but DEATH STRANDING as a whole has so many quirks and habits in stylization and storytelling that make it something you could not experience in any other medium, and something not experienced before in video games.

The level of detail, sense of scale, amount of self-aware charm and absurdity elevate DEATH STRANDING from a generic open world title to something that oozes uniquity. It can be frustrating, demanding, confusing, or just straight up goofy, but not once did it bore me. Likewise it can be meditative, immersive, intimate, impressive, and genuinely hilarious.

The social collaboration aspect of the structure building is immensely satisfying and relieving, and the strategic planning for each other-wise-would-be-dull fetch quest is stimulating. The grand plot of the game is nonsense in spite of every detail being over-explained to exhaustion, but the performance of the cast and exceptional direction keep me invested anyway, and often leads to genuinely emotional moments that wow, even if they can be undercut by relentless exposition mere seconds later.

The product placements (There's more than one) should be an artistic compromise, and I don't feel its wrong to criticize those aspects, but something about the sheer absurdity of them miraculously sells me on the tone of the world and its storytelling just a little bit more.

I find it likely I could read just about any criticism of DEATH STRANDING, understand it, probably agree with it, and still somehow love the game for it:

The dialogue is corny, the game is overlong and ends about 15 times, the combat is primitive, off-road vehicle handling is atrocious, the best structures are the ones that circumvent the main gameplay, The game is endless "Go From Point A to Point B" bookended by hours of cutscenes, most of the boss fights aren't great, etc., etc.

But at the end of the day, the only disdain I have towards the game without an asterisk of some kind is Troy Baker's gaudy and unlikeable-in-every-scene Higgs.

DEATH STRANDING is the first Hideo Kojima game I've experienced and I'm only looking forward to more.
DEATH STRANDING is entirely overconfident in itself to a degree that is almost impossible for me to not admire. If nothing else, it is the most unique game that I've had the pleasure of playing.