Arcade historian, fighting game jobber, princess of the 6th generation, jank scribe, ghost of the gaming ether
Top 5 cycles through my whatever currently has a really good place in my mind.
Perpetrator of the "Legacy of Lunatic Kingdom Server Kill Event"
Ratings are generally arbitrary.
Personal Ratings


GOTY '22

Participated in the 2022 Game of the Year Event

Gone Gold

Received 5+ likes on a review while featured on the front page


Gained 750+ total review likes


Gained 100+ followers


Created 10+ public lists


Found the secret ogre page

Best Friends

Follow and be followed by at least 3 others

Busy Day

Journaled 5+ games in a single day


Liked 50+ reviews / lists


Voted for at least 3 features on the roadmap

2 Years of Service

For being a part of the Backloggd community for 2 years

GOTY '21

Participated in the 2021 Game of the Year Event


Played 250+ games

On Schedule

Journaled games once a day for a week straight


Gained 300+ total review likes

Trend Setter

Gained 50+ followers

Well Written

Gained 10+ likes on a single review


Gained 100+ total review likes


Gained 15+ followers


Gained 3+ followers


Played 100+ games

GOTY '20

Participated in the 2020 Game of the Year Event


Gained 10+ total review likes

Favorite Games

Post Void
Post Void
Omega Boost
Omega Boost
Sonic Adventure 2
Sonic Adventure 2
Elite Beat Agents
Elite Beat Agents


Total Games Played


Played in 2023


Games Backloggd

Recently Played See More

Spider-Man 2: Enter Electro
Spider-Man 2: Enter Electro

Jan 23


Jan 23

Tarotica Voo Doo
Tarotica Voo Doo

Jan 21

Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3
Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3

Jan 18

Don't Shit Your Pants
Don't Shit Your Pants

Jan 14

Recently Reviewed See More

okay so we take the first game, right?
and we add... required combat arenas.
and open ended level design that just feels like shit
with none of the interesting characters of Spider-Man since we blew em all in the first game
Oh, and 90% of the bosses and story are almost one-to-one from the first game, just with different names.
Also no one gives a shit about Electro! Die!!
...really cute credit sequence tho. ups for that.

When your wheels touched concrete in the summer of 1999, you were sure nothing would ever compare to this. Propelled downhill, less by gravity but more by the venerated asphalt spirit, skaters far and wide convened here, a jam to end all jams. While you were happy doing everything you could, holding on to what you were, you couldn’t help but stare skyward at the street zephyrs soaring suspended; They careened through the air, making waxed wood and molded metal both their playthings. As you crashed down to the soul-shattering gravel, face bloodied and back broken, you could only wonder how they ascended from simple skaterdom, piercing the heavens of the board.
It took a year of shattered bones and busted lines to reclaim those halcyon days. A year of spilt blood and scattered teeth, splintered wood and worn polyurethane. It all felt like a dream then, placing bronze out in Roswell, but the age of simple skating had come and gone. You perfected flatland balance, dual-wheel worship at the altar of Mullen, but even perfection wasn’t enough for elusive gold; the Bullring by the Sea didn’t just cost you your metal, it cost you years of knowing you weren't good enough.
So now we’re here. Somehow, another year felt like two decade’s separation; Gone was the California sun, the first to die in the American Wasteland. A nation of Sparrows and Jackasses, failed projects and unproven theories, crept under wheel, biting at the ankles of the past. The spirit of yesterday was buried underground, leaving today to mourn in remembrance.
Well, maybe for some. The only angels you prayed to struck gold, immortalized in sharp vertexes and warped textures. They would be memorialized not in the world’s destruction, but in a final tour, eight stops; a send-off of olden days.
You forged your craft, refining your spark-casting perfection on the rails of automation, before skating to the north. Calgary’s frost-bitten hospitality was the first real test, but as if guided by Hawk’s holy hand, the snowy providence of Alberta bowed down, hailing 900s and McTwists like the second coming. For the first time in decades, a smile spreads across your face, your cheeks still rosy-red from the icy air…
You blink, and awaken to a crowd cheering your name. Looking down on the masses, faces revered and reviled stare back; Muska, Campbell, Reynolds and Margera. You glance around for Burnquist, hoping to celebrate with the hometown hero, but the master is missing in action. Somehow, you were sure you’d be able to show off this gold to him somewhere down the line.
It repeats, on and on: Suburbia becomes New Jersey, the Airport becomes a Mall. Twenty years made it all blend together. Even now, your second gold medal in hand, it barely feels like you’re awake. When those wheels roll, maple boards of a bygone age, time disappears, rendered in heelflips and darkslides. The pomp and circumstance of it all becomes an excuse, more than anything. In your immortalized element, the past is as real as you remember it.
The final jam beckons; neo-chrome Tokyo glistens, welcoming only the best of the best. The competition rages on, dreams dashed in fractured bones and dislocations. No matter what you do, face-to-face with your idols, no, your contemporaries, there's no break, no chance to cover lost ground. Rivals dwindle as career-ending injuries take one after another, but the legendary Birdman flies past.
Seconds are left in the last heat; only a miracle will change the course of destiny. You think to the future, to the final 900 and the first 1260. As if coming free from its wheels, the board possesses you one last time, as you pivot hard on impact, momentum propelling you into the cosmos.
180. 360. 540.
Tony looks skyward, the same shine that was in your eyes twenty years prior.
Two rotations. The 900. 1080.
Nothing else matters. An amoeba with a mind of its own, an ace of spades, whatever you were and where you come from don't matter. This lone moment, spinning on a golden axis, is what it all comes down to.
Zero seconds. You don't bother looking at the scoreboard; you knew better than to think that's what this is about.
All you were looking for was this lone moment of perfection, a revision of the summer of '99. You wrap your hand tight around your medal - does it even matter what it is? - as you board the plane back to California. Staring out the window, you see the past and future together, a first-hand account of what it's like when worlds collide. You never forget the past, and tomorrow closes in fast, but this single moment is eternal.
All the grand gestures can't ease your wonder. You finally unwrap the medal and take it in.
100% Pure Gold.

What if I told you this is the closest a game has gotten to perfection in vision, and nothing else has come remotely close