Everyone knows Mario is cool as fuck. But who knows what he's thinking? Who knows why he touches flowers? And why do we think about him as fondly as we think of the mystical (nonexistent?) Dr Pepper? Perchance.

I believe it was Kant who said "Experience without theory is blind, but theory without experience is mere intellectual play." Mario exhibits experience by tushing flowes all day, but he exhibits theory by stating "Lets-a go!" Keep it up, baby!

When Mario leaves his place of safety to grab a flowey, he knows that he may Die. And yet, for a man who can purchase lives with money, a life becomes a mere store of value. A tax that can be paid for, much as a rich man feels any law with a fine is a price. We think of Mario as a hero, but he is simply a one percenter of a more privileged variety. The lifekind. Perchance.

I remember playing the original trilogy and wanting more out of the Layton games. So when I found out the spectres call (name in Europe) existed I couldn’t wait to play it, and to find out it was a prequel to the main trilogy was even more interesting. Now I have a soft spot for this game, I had some great memories with it and nostalgia always blinds me with this game (probably why I prefer it to curious village).

The story is great, Emmy is a great new addition, and the puzzles are as great as ever! I love this game.

the opening montage of Up really destroyed a whole generation's concept of effective nonverbal storytelling by making them think a parade of prefab domestic clichés embellished with flavorless Milestone clipart set to overbearing music is in any way sophisticated or interesting huh

this girl is a tasteless unfuckable dweeb and i wish her all the worst. the way she's simultaneously a self-insert wish fulfillment character AND the most hapless and bland cozycore dork imaginable is really dark tbh. inexcusable taste in stuffed animals! stop decorating with your diploma already you absolute MONSTER!!! When a sappy celeste-adjacent chiptune ballad plays as it's revealed via context clues that she came into her own after a trip to Japan (and returned w/ a bevvy of basic tourist kiosk tchotchkes) and now feels confident enough to explore rockabilly-lite fashion...hell. It's all so flavorless and antiseptic--she is 30 where the hell is her hitachi wand and why CANT i stuff her horrid garb into the closet in the ideal organizational format--the pile? the subject here is so unpalatable that i honestly would have preferred they scrap the whole progressing narrative concept entirely (esp. when its used in such an unambitious way that communicates very little beyond trite sentimentality; life has its ups and downs, #gratitude, don't make time for haters who dull your shine, the more things change the more they stay the same, when god throws out a mug he buys you a wacom tablet) and instead present a medley of varying rooms/spaces occupying a plethora of subjects, aesthetics, and experiences, but also idt the same devs who chose this protag have anywhere near the worldliness or savvy to attempt something like that. impressive amount of unique isometric assets and cool implementation of foley though!

It was the summer of '95. Batman Forever was in theaters, Cotton Eye Joe was on the radio, and uhh hold on let me google something...uhh The NATO bombing campaign against Bosnian Serb artillery positions begins in Bosnia and Herzegovina. It was a time of change, revelations, revolution, and at the forefront of all this was one man, nay, a creature. A green guy with a big game and an even BIGGER attitude. What he lacks in size, he makes up for in style, as well as his huge cock. The man, the myth, the legend, the thing on everyone's mind, a one-syllable name that could move mountains and catch lightning: Bug!

Ahh, The Summer of Bug. Of course I wasn't born at the time to experience it, but if I had a time machine, the first thing I would do is transport myself to August 1995, to be there amongst the people that Bug brought together. The comradery, the kinship, the warmth of men setting aside their difference for one day, to unite in the reverie brought on by Bug's release. But of course, I'm only recounting what has already been extensively documented, analyzed, and mythologized in the past decades since that day. Echoes of Bug's influence can be heard throughout our daily lives, in everything we see and do, Bug has its place. This is, as everyone knows, why every family in the world always leaves one seat at the table empty, for it is Bug's place to sit. The term "monogamy" is now obsolete, as any couple fully understands they are in a relationship with not just their partner, but with Bug as well.

(In the year 2072) My two horrible grandchildren who want me dead: "Shut up, grandpa! We hate this story and we hate Bug! We like our other grandpa better, he has a region-free Saturn with a 4MB RAM cartridge!"

Oh ho ho, you kids. Someday you'll understand. You'll understand that your other grandpa is going to hell, along with anyone else who covets the RAM cartridge. Ahhh, all this recounting is making me tired, let your old peepaw nap for just a minute.

Goes to sleep, never wakes up again