#0098: Timon & Pumbaa's Jungle Games

Remember that Lion King video game? Unless you're a filthy millennial, you probably should. It graced all major consoles at the time, and was even available on MS-DOS. It was like they were hunting down potential platforms, truculently shilling their product until they had monopolised the entire industry.

It was pretty good, but man, was it tough. Many would cite the logs in the Hakuna Matata stage or the wildebeest stampede as the source of their misery, but I even struggled to properly time the double jumps on that stupid ostrich. Wouldn't that have been a strange twist for the movie? If while merrily singing about how he just can't wait to be king, Simba crashes into a tree and fucking dies. That probably would have been the plot if Roman Polanski had directed it.

But of course, Disney was basically pooping cash in the '90s, and Lion King was perhaps their biggest meal ticket up to that point. So inevitably, an utter glut of merchandise would surface like hyenas from the elephant graveyard, including other, much less significant efforts. This is where Timon & Pumbaa's Jungle Games comes into play.

In between levels in The Lion King, you had some fairly mundane bonus stages starring Timon and Pumbaa. It was probably my least favourite part of the game, and for that reason, it was an excellent idea to make an entire spinoff based on that premise.

Jungle Games debuted on PC in 1995, when The Lion King was still white hot and people were trying to pretend that Pocahontas never happened. Remarkably, a Super Nintendo port wouldn't follow until November '97 in North America, or March '98 in the PAL regions. By this time, we were playing masterpieces like Star Fox 64, GoldenEye and Final Fantasy VII. Who, exactly, was going back to their Super Nintendo to engage in some mediocre minigames?

Well, besides me, that is.

I acquired this title during a visit to Canada in 1998. The justification, of course, was that I had a North American Super Nintendo, and acquiring compatible software for it in Australia was a tricky bit of business, especially so long after the new console generation had begun. I mostly bought it for the bug dropping Puyo Puyo clone that I had seen on the PC.

You know. The one game that didn't make it to the SNES version. ...It's not funny, Ed.

The remaining attractions on offer are pinball, a Frogger imposter, a gaseous shooter and a slingshoteous shooter. On PC, each game would be preceded by a charming introduction from Timon and Pumbaa, where they would explain the rules, trade banter, and discuss the downfall of the textiles industry in southeast Asia. Reading between the lines a little on that last one there.

On SNES, you receive none of this. You choose a game, and it's like, "fucking figure it out, you asshole." If you didn't read the instruction manual, you were left to fend for yourself, though in fairness, none of the games were complex enough to necessitate thorough coaching.

Incidentally, according to the manual, Timon and Pumbaa built the jungle arcade themselves, which makes you wonder why they never held a steady job. I mean, clearly they are artisan craftsmen, and the only ones in all of the savanna capable of constructing elaborate structures. Frankly, I'm sick of them mooching off my tax dollars.

To investigate them further is paramount to sin, but I shall do so regardless, in the interest of thorough investigative journalism (read: padding).

Jungle Pinball doesn't particularly stretch the imagination. You hit the ball into animals who have willingly offered up their faces to be bludgeoned. There's a hippo that sticks his ass out with a target on it, indicating that he really wants you to send it right on up there. What did you do with your weekend? I put my balls in a hippo's ass, of course.

Sling Shooter is probably the low point, as you aim your reticle around the screen, attempting to fire grapes at passersby. It's just not something the SNES controller was built for, and tragically, there's a crocodile who bursts into tears whenever you shoot him. It's so mean spirited, and I can't help but wonder why he keeps coming back up. Does he feel like he deserves this punishment? Are you aiding the poor creature's flagellation? Why does he hurt so, so bad?

Once you've moved onto Hippo Hop, it begins to dawn on you that you have experienced half of this fucking game in the span of about seven minutes. Sure hope you didn't break the bank on your purchase. Timon attempts to collect bugs as he crosses a river, climbing atop the advertised hippos, as well as turtles, logs and rocks that apparently weren't important enough to mention. For some reason, the bugs are doing a sexy pose.

Finally, there is the cleverly titled Burper, in which Timon shakes a tree, causing various items to tumble towards you, as Pumbaa. You can either take them out by burping at them, or whack them with your tail if they survive the fall. I can't work out why exactly Timon and Pumbaa are engaging in such shenanigans. It's not like they're eating the bugs here, and judging by the amount of monkeys that end up careening to the ground, you're actually being very disruptive, and incredibly dangerous. It's almost as if they panicked when they couldn't come up with more games, so they just said 'fuck it, let's shake this tree and burp at people'.

Funnily enough, I believe that's also Donald Trump's solution to climate change.

As it is in life, there is no victory in the Jungle Games, as you just keep going until you fail, hoping to have achieved a high score. It's a little bit sad to think that Timon will never escape that accursed river, and Pumbaa will be forever condemned to aggressively belch at his assailants.

There is a two-player mode if you can actually convince someone else to join you on this joyless endeavour, but seeing as all of the experiences are for one person at a time, it's not much more impressive than simply handing the controller between each other. Had they actually included Bug Drop, the multiplayer feature would have been much more justified, and indeed, the package as a whole would have become quite tolerable.

Instead of an uninspired Puyo Puyo facsimile and some other junk, we only end up with the junk. If this is the kind of shit that Timon and Pumbaa are into, it's no wonder Simba went back to the Pride Lands. Well, that, and he was chasing some ass. We can all appreciate that.

Overall, Timon and Pumbaa's Jungle Games will exit my life with as little fanfare as it had entered. This kind of tosh may have rolled on PC in the mid-'90s, but when you hastily scrap together an inferior port years later, you end up with little more than a collection of Jungle Lames that even the most tolerant cub would turn his nose up at.

#0089: Bubsy II

Gotta be honest, I didn't find Bubsy the Bobcat to be immediately annoying.

His first game, Claws Encounters of the Furred Kind was an enjoyable romp, with great big levels and a steep degree of difficulty. Each world felt unique and worth exploring, and the animations were bold and fluid. Sure, he had a tendency to yammer, as evidenced on the packaging and throughout the pages of the instruction manual, but this was the 90s. Everyone had to have 'tude. Bubsy wasn't much guiltier than the golden boy Sonic, Aero the Acro-Bat, or Bubble and Squeak.

The issue is that with each entry into the franchise, his personality grew bigger while the quality of the games took a tumble. It of course came crashing to a disastrous halt with Bubsy 3D on the PlayStation, one of the biggest abominations in the industry's history, and the death knell that banished Bubsy from the public eye for more than twenty years.

Frankly, I think the low point was actually the ill-fated cartoon show that never made it past its pilot episode (with apologies to my hero, Rob Paulsen), but that's neither here nor there. Actually, I'd prefer it if it was there. Far, far away over there.

A single year after the original title's release, Accolade decided to milk that sucker for all it was worth, pushing out a pair of sequels in 1994. Of the two of them, Bubsy II was superior, but that's not exactly high praise. It'd be like choosing between someone punching you in the gut, or kicking you in the nads. You won't exactly be celebrating your wise decision.

The game focuses on the eponymous feline taking his nephew and niece to a new theme park that features wondrous locales like an Egyptian tomb, a fantasy world, and a land riddled with space pirates. The kids sneak in a day early because they're little shits, and a sinister scheme is uncovered. It's up to Bubsy and his useless armadillo sidekick Arnold to rescue the twins and foil the plans of the wicked Oinker P. Hamm. It's up to you whether you care or not. I certainly don't.

Oddly enough, browsing the Interwebs reveals that critics actually rated Bubsy II fairly favourably, citing his increased arsenal and abilities as positives. Some even went as far as declaring that it was better than the original, but there was one critic who saw past all of that nonsense.

That critic was a smarmy six-year-old who thought to himself, 'shit son, this game sucks balls'. Probably not in those exact words (I don't recall ever saying 'son'), but I definitely realised that the levels were repetitive and mundane, the additional cast members were irritating at best, and the lauded Nerf® Ballzooka™ proved entirely superfluous. Thing is, it was a weird feeling at the time, because I loved the first game as a kid, and I wasn't used to being disappointed by something I trusted. It was this odd sensation of thinking that I should like this; it's Bubsy, and he's cool, but this really bites.

At least it was good training for what Sonic the Hedgehog would pull about a decade later - wakka wakka!

Man, even the cartridge is obnoxious.

To help break up the monotony, Bubsy II also includes mini-games that ironically end up being the most monotonous part of the game. Everything just feels hollow and lazy, and by the time you defeat the final boss, you're left wondering 'is that it?' while at the same time hoping 'please let that be it'. Text flashes up onscreen declaring that OINKER HAS BEEN DEFEATED, as Bubsy laughs at the hapless swine, who appears to actually have no use of his legs and is potentially handicapped. Next, we have a shot of Bubsy's posse celebrating the successful imprisonment of the bad guys. I don't think it's particularly necessary, considering we already got our shitty ending just beforehand, but if you have a kink for pigs behind bars, then you're well catered to.

For fun and research (plus potential fap material), I Googled 'imprisonment fetish' only to find that there were not as many results as I was expecting. I did come away with this nugget from the BDSM subreddit, however:

I spent two days in our basement cell. Bread and water shoved into my mouth 3 times a day. I was beat and fucked whenever mistress wanted. It was some of the best days

That abrupt conclusion sure is a cliffhanger, isn't it? Is there more to this story, or was B_and_M_queen killed before she could finish her sentence? This is high drama and I am fucking addicted.

What I am not addicted to, however, is Bubsy II. In actuality, it is probably the worst game I own, and I'm a little surprised that I gave Taz in Escape From Mars the boot first. You may be interested to know that my overzealous autocorrect desperately tried to convince me that I meant to type Tax in Escape From Mars just then. I'm pretty sure that's what Wesley Snipes went to jail for.

Bubsy will probably never return to the pseudo-prominence he enjoyed upon his debut, and may forever evoke the same kind of vitriol as Justin Bieber and the Macarena. It's considered trendy to lump on the poor dude nowadays, with nobody caring to even give him props for gliding through midair before Knuckles made it cool. And though I feel a bit guilty, it's his own fault for trotting out turd after turd.

What could possibly go wrong? Everything, Bubsy. Fucking everything.

Team X-Stream

So it's been a few months now, and no doubt the lack of updates have given y'all reason to believe that I have, in fact, fallen into a bear trap of unfathomable size, been accosted by deadly wasps with laser eyes, and then combusted into a million pieces, each of which was then eaten by camoflagued wolves. It's the only logical explanation, after all.

The good news is that it's only the half truth. I'm doing fine, and will possibly begin toy blogging in a few months. Got that wedding to save for, after all. Should you miss your quarterly intake of Tony, however, you may be excited to know that I've taken up streaming and Let's Play-ing (awkward verb is awkward).

Check me out on Twitch if you're so inclined, or head on over to my YouTube channel to see gaming excerpts of all shapes and sizes. You might like it!

...I mean, you might hate it, too, but that's a risk I'm willing to take to hawk my shoddy wares.

5 Life Lessons from the Nintendo 3DS

So the Nintendo 3DS is a great many things. From an enjoyable plaything to a portable time waster to a tool for taking surreptitious photos up women's skirts (in 3D!), it's given us years of fun. What most don't realise, however, is how many things it has taught us over the years. Important lessons: Fire Emblem Awakening gave us the harsh reminder that death is final. Super Mario 3D Land showed us the virtue of patience and perseverance. Pokémon Omega Ruby and Alpha Sapphire revealed that 80% of people in the world are assholes, and that said assholes often come equipped with Mega Rayquaza.

These are the most obvious teachings that it has bestowed upon us. But if you delve a little bit deeper, you'll find a hidden layer of gems that will make you wiser, bolder, and Vaiker. Allow me to bestow upon you the invaluable life lessons that the Nintendo 3DS has taught me, and, through the power of bold assumption, therefore taught you, too.

1. Animals are vapid, shallow people

In fairness, animals were never intended to be people to begin with. It's a crime upon both god and nature. But once that line was blurred, we were treated to a world of gossip, bickering and more lost handkerchiefs than an aristocrats' bender.

For one thing, how come nobody in this town seems to have a job, other than the unfortunate few who appear to actually live at their place of employment? If the one human resident goes missing for too long, he returns to a village overrun with weeds. Surely, the goddamn sheep could have done something to prevent that - she doesn't appear to have much else going on in her life.

Animals also seem to love letters. And sure, being sent a lovely letter from a faraway pal is a nice gesture, but if you have to ask a person standing right in front of you for a letter, it a) defeats the purpose, and b) is a clear indication that you don't have very many friends. Then, they can't seem to read the damn things anyway. You wanted to tell your close companion Bill to 'Throw caution to the wind as you embrace the changes riding on the breeze; a telltale whisper that brings forth a new era', but if you want the stupid ducky to decode it, you'll have to dumb it down to 'I like you. You have a good face. Here is a cherry.'

2. Any relationship is possible if you believe enough

Let's face it; you'll probably never get the chance to hang out with LeBron James and Emma Stone. At least, not until you turn on the 3DS and create them yourself, then you can be best buddies forever! You can even coerce them to date one another and get hitched. The resulting baby will probably be named Dexter. You may send him on a journey around the world. LeBron and Emma will be so proud. Don't ever tell any of your friends you did this. Unless LeBron James actually is your friend, in which case, you probably didn't read this far.

We all have our ideal partner waiting out there for us, somewhere, and we're often convinced it's some celebrity who would 'totally dig us if they just got the chance to meet'. You could either pursue this in real life with messy legal ramifications, or save yourself the effort, the emotional turmoil and the lengthy jail sentence by dating a Mii facsimile.

You may even learn something, after all. For example, once upon a time if you told me that Miranda Priestley from The Devil Wears Prada would consider romancing Topher Grace while he was inexplicably dressed as a farmer, I'd dismiss that as impossible. Now, I know the truth, and there is indeed love in the air.

...Though I'm mildly concerned about ramifications from her besmirched ex, Walter White. Topher's best course would be to tread lightly. Or beat Walter in a rap battle. That's always an option.

3. You will be rewarded for being attractive

In Pokémon X and Y, you're finally provided with the opportunity to customise the appearance of your trainer. You can give them silly little hats and hairstyles, and make your avatar seem really unique. Alas, they'll always have the same goofy grin on their face, and are perpetually locked in as a prepubescent child. I wanted to make my trainer an overweight Asian man with a mighty beard, but the option was not available to me. Maybe in gen 7.

One of the curious mechanics is that your wardrobe choices will actually have an effect on how people view you in the world of Kalos. Strutting the streets in a beanie and an old coat? You'll be paying full price for everything, and barred access from the coolest places like some kind of leper. Snazzify yourself up, and you'll be treated like royalty. When the cab driver first discounts your fare because of how hot you look, you feel flattered. ...And then, a little bit creeped out, because, like, you're eight years old or whatever. Don't get back in the cab.

And the less said about Mr. Bonding, the better. The mysterious fade out as he 'teaches' you is bad enough, but the fact that you have to look stylish enough in order for him to gift you with the final O-Power (which is, ironically, the power to hatch eggs) is simply cruel. Why are we not good enough for you anymore, Mr. Bonding? Aren't we pretty anymore? Why won't you bond with me?!

... Eight year olds, Dude.

4. Raising a Nintendog is much easier than raising a real dog

As the wise Milhouse Van Houten once opined, 'Dogs are outstanding!', and indeed, they are. They'll be your friends for life, giving you the unconditional love of a true companion. In return, however, you must do the following things: feed them, walk them, train them, clean up after them, and just generally take care of them. As though they were your hairy offspring.

Sound like too much work? Then grab yourself a copy of Nintendogs. For a fraction of the cost of one real pooch, you've now scored yourself dozens of puppies. And, yeah, some cats too, if you're some kind of sick freak.

Sure, you are supposed to do the same kind of things; the feeding, training and poop collecting, but you could just as easily not. On several occasions, I've left my Nintendogs unattended for months on end, but when I walk through that door, there they are! They're filthy and famished, sure, but they aren't emaciated corpses scattered about the living room, and the husky hasn't killed the pug out of hunger or boredom.

Plus, these dogs can make you money! Enter them in contests, fling a Frisbee off into the distance, and watch in amazement as your Jack Russell Terrier does an incredible midair flip before coming down with the disc in his mouth. Aww, little Mr. Pepper won you a trophy! Let's reward him by sending him off to the doggy hotel (read: the pound) so you can buy one of the more expensive dog breeds.

It's a cruel world in there, but I haven't been bitten once, so I can't be doing too badly. Besides, if Animal Crossing is to be believed, these dogs are about as intelligent as the Kardashians. They probably haven't even noticed.

5. Combining two people to see what their baby will look like always leads to tears

I think a divorce is the best course of action here.

amiibo and Me

To cap off what has inadvertently become Pokemonth, I thought I'd show you another one of my wee little purchases. As I had alluded to earlier, Nintendo's got a hot new toy on the town in the form of the amiibos. If they were just figurines, I could have resisted. However, the fun integration they have with Wii U games shows a lot of promise. I've only been able to test it out on Smash Bros, but I'm looking forward to seeing what else they are capable of.

That's my boy, Pikachu. With each battle, they grow in level, learning new techniques and traits along the way. After a few skirmishes where I smacked the little yellow guy around, he began to wise up. I came at him with a dashing attack, something he was previously quite vulnerable to, and shock! He sidestepped my assault, grabbed hold of me and flung me off the stage. After the KO, he taunted, just like daddy. Aww. ...Daddy's a dick. And now he is too. I love him.

Anyone else investing in the amiibo frenzy? If so, who did you select? A marvellous Mario? A legendary Link? An alliteration-absent Wii Fit Trainer? Show us your haul!

#0082: Pokemon Sapphire Version

Have you bought your copy of Omega Ruby or Alpha Sapphire yet? I sure have, and I've been playing that sucker to my heart's content. I can never decide which generation of Pokemon is my favourite, but the third is a strong contender. The locales of Hoenn are vivid and interesting, the story and enemies are probably the series' best, and so many huge mechanics were added that changed the metagame immensely. Now that I have the remake in my possession, I thought I might pass this classic on to a new owner. After all, I also own Ruby as well, and effectively triple dipping on this game felt redundant. Also, kind of delicious when phrased that way.

The moment you fired up Pokemon Sapphire Version, you knew you were living in the new generation. An enormous colour palette! Four Pokemon battling at once! A sombrero-wearing duck creature!! Holy hell, were we truly ready? Early in the game, you see a couple of Machoke moving furniture. This, to me, was simply exhilarating. In previous generations, non-battle sprites were just ambiguous fairies/monsters/flowers/puddles, whereas here, it's as it should be: a scary, artery-brandishing behemoth. You approach it meekly, staring at it in awe. 'Guaaaffaaaahhh!' it roars at you. Possibly because you stepped on its foot.

Soon, you meet your new neighbour and rival. if you chose the male character, your neighbour will be the girl, May. I like to call her Haruka, because that's her Japanese name and I think it suits her. If you chose the female protagonist, you'll get the boy, Brendan, next door. I like to call him Douche, because he's an absolute douche.

As the story progresses, you'll do battle with the nefarious Team Aqua, who plan to cover the planet in water. Consequently, on the sister game, your adversaries come in the form of Team Magma, who, as you could appreciate, intend to do the opposite. The other team will act as foils to these dastardly plans, though frankly, I always thought the Magmas had the more wicked intentions. I mean, seriously - Team Aqua floods the world, okay, we take a leaf from Kevin Costner's book, and become a society of pirates. Team Magma turns the whole world to arid, dry land? Fuck that shit. I've been living in the desert for seventeen years, and it's shithouse. You think you can handle it, you try spending one Christmas in the summer. You'll forsake Christianity real fast. And I still haven't seen a single Regirock out here.

Anyway, in memorium of... wait, memorium isn't a word? That's really awkward. It's like the time I pronounced the word vehemently as it's spelt. Well, whatever. In memory of Pokemon Sapphire, I thought I would share with you an excellent poem I have formulated (just now) on my favourite Pokemon from this generation.

A-hem.

His crest is red

His body blue

Should he strike

You'll have nothing to do

But fear not, old salt

For his name is Swellow

He shan't attack you

He's a friendly fellow

He flies with great speed

And exquisite grace

His talons are sharp

I like his face

He wins in battles

He wins at life

He won many contests

That won him a wife

Special attack is abysmal

Defenceless is he

Not a physical threat

And sub-par HP

But oh, is he fast

Just watch him go

He makes the swiftest

Appear sluggishly slow

Zip, zip, zip!

So agile and clever

He's an Aerial Ace

Who shall always Endeavour

So come watch the show

Fill the whole auditorium

We honour you, Swellow

At least in memorium

...The FUCK, Internet?!

Diancie, or: how I am still addicted to 'video game perfection'

Are you familiar with this sparkly little character, by any chance? It's called a Diancie, and it's the latest in a long line of special promotional Pokemon that are not normally available in-game. Ever since the first generation of the franchise, Nintendo have locked away at least one special little critter, and though the means of distribution have changed over the years, the gist is still the same: join in, or miss out.

Diancie is the first of three special Pokemon for the sixth generation of games, and in order to get it, you have to go into a participating retailer and grab a code. Redeem the code, collect your Diancie in-game, shove it in a PC box, and wiggle with giddiness that your perfect Pokedex streak remains intact. In Australia, the promotion is running from November 10th to the 27th. Once the date is over, the codes can no longer be redeemed. That's fine, obviously, because all of the previous promotional Pokemon were also only available for a limited time.

What makes things different, this time, is the code distribution method. As I alluded to, the way you've gotten these Pokemon has changed over the years. In prior games, you needed to simply connect to the Wi-Fi network of participating retailers, collect the Pokemon wirelessly, and knick off. There I was, the creepy guy sitting out in front of EB Games with a 3DS in his lap, hacking into their system to collect a Meloetta.

Obviously, the simplicity of this wireless method meant you never really realised the sheer scape of how popular Pokemon still is. Because you never interacted with anyone, and there was an unlimited supply on-hand. It was nothing like the old days, where I was standing in line at a shopping centre for hours - an eleven year old boy at the peak of Pokemon's hype - to collect my very own Mew during PokeTour 1999.

I didn't rush into retailers on November 10th, because obviously, I'm a mature adult in his mid-20s, and I had plenty of time. The previous giveaway this generation, of a shiny Gengar, was a smooth operation: get in, awkwardly ask for the imaginary ghost in the children's video game, and strut out.

On the 14th, I had a day off, so I decided I'd take the half hour walk to the nearest EB and snag my Diancie. It's free, after all, and I'm still a completionist at heart. For some reason, I felt the need to call in advance and ask about it. You know. Just in case. ..And they told me that they had run out.

Here's where the game has changed, you see - each of these codes they give away, is effectively one Diancie. There's no 'connect to the network and generate your own'. These codes are... actual... freaking... Diancies... And there weren't any left. I called the various EB's and JB Hi-Fi's in my local area, as well as the ones in the CBD. All of the nearby stores were completely out, and the major branches had gotten a second batch from a Nintendo representative a day ago... that had also run out.

And this is when I realised that there is something in me that I can't quite explain. To simplify it, I have an unhealthy addiction with perfection in video games. Sometimes, in a gameplay sense: In Super Mario 3D Land, your file progression is marked by stars. If you've finished the game without dying five times, those stars are shiny. I couldn't risk not having those shiny stars, so on every near-death, I quit the game before it was too late. I was playing Mario ultra-cautiously for menu aesthetics.

Sometimes, my addiction grows so frantic and ugly, like it did when I was trying desperately to find the Sonic Generations collector's edition, that I'm calling up every retailer, and visiting other ones physically to try and acquire the elusive item. Not because Sonic Generations was a hard game to get, but because I felt this sense of duty as a Sonic fan to get this particular, ultimate package. In the end, I gave in to my demons and paid some bastard on eBay $527.32 to get it. That's $362 more than its RRP. I paid half a grand to validate my fandom.

And here we sat again. My video game perfection causing a feeling of great unease. Because I've gotten every Pokemon up to this point, and if I miss out on Diancie, my whole collection is ruined. Every subsequent game will have a blank spot at #719 because I didn't get in quickly enough. How is this logical thinking, exactly?

I won't beat around the bush; through constant calling and prodding, I ascertained that the Nintendo rep made the rounds on Thursdays. I called JB Hi-Fi yesterday to see if they had gotten any in. The staff member asked me, in a rather serious tone, if I was going to be able to get there that day. I answered in the affirmative, and he said that was the only way I could get one, because they had only received a limited supply. I got in, I got my Diancie, I did a little dance(y?), and I had scratched that itch once again.

Obviously, it wasn't quite so bad this time, but how long will it be until I feel that urge again? It's debilitating, in the sense that it makes me make rash, stupid decisions. Frankly, if you put the word 'limited' or 'collector's' or 'exclusive' on anything I like, it will make me consider it. For example, I recently heard about the rush on the first wave of amiibos. And though they will get more in stock, I really wanted to be able to use one when I first play Smash Bros in December.

And so... Well, you'll see.

When all else fails, blame the Vaike

I'm sorry, friends. All because I haven't been posting doesn't mean I don't still love you guys. The main reason for my absence lately can be traced almost directly to the 67 hours I have spent playing Fire Emblem Awakening. Oh my god, I love it so. Any scarce fragment of spare time I have, simply has to be dedicated towards playing it and buffing up my paladins. I even ranked the units over on my other blog, if you fancy a peek.

I do however have a bag of toys at my disposal that I have been feeling an itch to dispose of. So bear with me, there will be action (figures). To bide you over, here is my current collection of POP! Vinyls. They represent everything that is important to me, from Canadian superheroes to sea witches to Michael Keaton.

#0068: Pokemon Silver Version

In April of 2011, I decided to do an odd thing. I scavenged about the closet, unearthed my Game Boy Advance, and popped in my old Pokemon games. Did I intend to play them, seeking a surge of nostalgia? No, not exactly. After all, the first two generations have since been faithfully recreated, and I'm actually still in the middle of my Heart Gold run-through. In actuality, I kind of wanted to look through my legions of old Pokemon, just for shits and giggles.

I'd sunk about 200 hours into Pokemon Silver Version, and boy, what a time I'd had. Back in the days when Pokemon was still the exciting thing, the second edition certainly delivered on all fronts: new Pokemon, new abilities, the revelation that your darling little princess Clefable may actually have a wang... It was all terribly exciting, wasn't it?

And so, I fondly surveyed the contents of my PC boxes. My Typhlosion, the starter Pokemon who would join me as I trekked through this uncharted new region... Reddy, the cleverly named shiny crimson Gyarados... and of course, my Quagsire was in there somewhere. I adored that Quagsire. She was dopey as fuck, with this great big grin on her face; a veritable Brad Garrett of Pokemon.

But where in the hell was she? She wasn't among my party. She wasn't sitting in the Water or Ground-type boxes. She wasn't even on a vacation over on my Crystal version. She was nowhere. ...My Quagsire... was dead. In my misery, I wrote her a touching eulogy.

Pokemon Silver claimed my Quagsire far before her time. She was going to be celebrating her eleventh birthday this year. She was so beautiful. She loved to Rollout. So young, so innocent.

In memory of Nautica the Quagsire
2000-2011

Fast forward to today, and I thought I'd pay the Johto region another visit. But it would seem as though the cruel hand of fate has plagued this once pristine part of the world, and claimed another victim. And this time, that victim was the Johto champion, ANTHONY, trainer #15939.

Yes, it would seem as though the entire save file has disappeared, and with it, the Typhlosion, the Umbreon, the Crobat... Every last one, gone. Professor Oak approaches, but he's practically unrecognisable. He once lived an existence of great joy and unbridled passion, reviewing the progress ANTHONY had made on his Pokedex. But now, he is a shadow of his former self. He asks you for your name. He mutters something about the world of Pokemon. He hands you the ghastly corpse of a Chikorita. Then he shuffles off into the dark recesses of his dilapidated laboratory.

The world that once looked so vivid seems to only contain 56 colours, all of them melancholy. New Bark Town has only a few scattered inhabitants, who are all wandering back and forth aimlessly, their eyes glassy and pixelated. Strangely, though, people seem to be going about their day in much the same way they had back at the turn of the millennium.

They tell you about recently discovered Pokemon like Marill and Natu. They talk about the exciting new technology of the Poke Gear. They're listening to Sisqó as if he were relevant. However, mentioning the name ANTHONY only receives confusion and indifference. Why, it's as if you've jumped back in time to a perverse version of the past, one where ANTHONY never received that Cyndaquil, never bested Lance at the Pokemon League, and never prevented the uprising of Team Rocket.

He's been erased from the memory of everyone in the world! ...Which is odd, considering that he's also the champion of Kanto, Hoenn and Unova. He would have been the Sinnoh region champion as well, but I decided to name him MR. BUTTS instead. Hahaha! Butts.

I shan't dally for long. Clearly, my very presence here, with my fancy new iPod and Terrence Ross Raptors jersey, is causing suspicion. I'm a practical paradox, and my Game Boy Advance isn't backlit, so I can't make out a damn thing anyway. Tears in my eyes, I take out my Poke Ball, and release my Swellow, ready for it to fly me away from this horrible place.

Unfortunately, Swellow doesn't exist yet. The save file is now corrupted, and New Bark Town is renamed HW!%RRR!PWWW. Fuck.

I hope you're out there somewhere, ANTHONY. Still farming those Charmanders. Still giving those Pokemon the horrible movesets you thought were so tactful as a twelve year old. Still nicknaming Hoothoot as Lugia, and trading it to unsuspecting children. You old dick, you.

#0061: Taz in Escape from Mars

Back in my youth, I played a lot of video games. Shit, I still do, I just don’t brag about it in the schoolyard so much anymore (a court order tends to put a halt to such fun).

Because we were borderline rich, spoilt kids who shunned the outside world, my sister and I each had a television in our bedrooms, a little treat that I will selfishly not be paying forward to my own offspring. My parents did it out of love, but to this day, it has instilled within me this instinctive urge to retreat back to my room as some sort of lair, and frankly, I’m not enough of a virgin to get away with doing that anymore.

Coupled with those televisions was a console: for my sister, the Super Nintendo, and for me, the Sega Genesis. That’s right, folks, we had the early 90s console war waged right between children’s bedrooms. Maybe it’s part of the reason I have always had a soft spot for Sega. Sonic was my boy, my man, my confidant, he chilled with me, he went on adventures with me, and he’d run faster than fuck and leave me behind. Because he’s kind of a dick like that.

The Sega Genesis lives today in a state of retirement: it did not age nearly as well as the SNES, unfortunately. The cartridges are more temperamental and the god forsaken ancient DIN connector only plugs into one television; a television that I am forced to keep for the sole purpose of playing Sega. To its credit though, the controllers have fared much better than their Nintendo counterpart. We’re up to our fifth SNES pad, whereas we’re still operating with the original two we had for the Sega. Also, the six button controller is boss as fuck, even though I don’t recall ever playing a game that necessitated the extra three buttons.

It was only a matter of time before I opened up that little VHS/game cupboard, and plucked a Sega game from the snug comfort of darkness like a babe in the night, and today, wedged between Virtual Pinball and Who Framed Roger Rabbit, was Taz in Escape From Mars.

In the gaming sense, the Tasmanian Devil was the Looney Tunes’ golden boy. Whereas Bugs and Daffy didn’t have a definitive skill set other than cross-dressing and getting shot in the fucking face, respectively, we all knew what Taz did. We all loved what Taz did.

He span in circles, and he ate fucking everything. He was Chris Farley in cartoon form, and he was ready for action.

Never mind the fact that he neither looked nor operated much like an actual Tasmanian devil, and when he mutters out speech, it’s entirely devoid of any sort of Australian accent, he’s still one of the nation’s most recognizable celebrities. Because of his penchant for spinning rapidly, he is also one of our most enduring incorrect stereotypes. So let’s clear some things up… no, Tasmanian devils do not turn into miniature tornadoes. No, we do not ride kangaroos and throw boomerangs at our enemies. Yes, we all wrestle crocodiles. In fact, I’m wrestling one right now. Crikey!

The Taz renaissance kicked into gear during the 1990s (Wikipedia told me so), and it coincided comfortably with the rapid progression of gaming technology. After the NES had evolved our heroes into clear, defined sprites as opposed to ‘green blob’ and ‘ambiguously naked yellow man’, the SNES and Genesis ushered in a colour palette so robust, developers could really flex their muscles, and make the happy little trees they’d always yearned for.

Our game opens with Marvin the Martian taking a stroll through his Mars zoo. He makes the executive decision that his collection would really benefit from a Tasmanian devil, and proceeds to abduct our boy Taz. Taz seeks revenge as he busts up Marvin’s zoo, wrecks shit all the way to Mexico, and then invades Marvin’s house and blows his brains out like Joe Pesci in Goodfellas. (SPOILER ALERT. LOL)

So you start in a cage in the zoo. To your right is a cracked wall, the kind that Link would love to plant a bomb up against, but Taz prefers to simply spin… at… and make his escape. So really, Marvin’s downfall lied in lackluster construction, and that’s just too damned bad. Me personally, I liked to actually just jump up and down and play in the enclosure for a solid five minutes, because I’m pretty sure it was my only gaming opportunity to be a zoo animal. What fun.

The game is a lot of spinning about, bouncing off of walls, and making blind leaps of faith that could lead to your destination, or a speedy death, accompanied by a hilarious Taz ‘grah!’ and a mildly horrifying musical track that sounds like an instrument farting. There are a whole slew of maze-like environments to navigate about, and of course, famous Looney Tunes characters to throw down with. I distinctly recall frequently getting lost, because I was a mere six year old with only a passing knowledge of the layout of Mars, and I responded by eating everything I saw.

Because most excellently, the game features a lot of eating. Taz can eat almost anything, whether it’s a box of rocks, a birthday cake, or a bomb that then blows up in Taz’s stomach. So you’ll want to avoid the bomb for safety purposes, though I don’t know how healthy it is to eat some rocks or random baked goods, either.

Finally, I escaped from Mars, as the title so specifically requested, and ended up in Moleworld. …Oh god, Moleworld…

In the second level of Moleworld, you’re being pursued by an enormous, terrifying digging machine, and you have to press onward to the end as quickly as possible (an exit sign that Taz also decides to eat), or else you’ll be brutally murdered. Yep, there’s no two ways about it, this kooky little cartoon character will be ripped to pieces by the cruel mole people. It’s simply horrifying, and to be honest, I never did pass that stage. I never got to see Planet X or the haunted mansion, and just like Thelma and Louise, I never made it to Mexico. That’s all, folks! I’m fucking dead.

If that’s too heavy for you, at least you can watch the little Taz icon in the bottom left corner. It’s the entirely superfluous indicator of how many lives you have left, and it is simply marvelous. It grins, it peers, it throws little tantrums, I wish it was in every game!

Overall, the game is your standard fare for platformers of its day, but it has enough little extras to keep it fresh. Hopefully, someone will see it next time they stop by Gametraders, and this eighteen-year-old relic will liven up their day. …Assuming they have a North American Sega Genesis, which may be wishful thinking.

GRAH!

More swag!

Here are some other things I've gotten rid of lately. Things that are relevant to this blog, but not important enough to merit their own entries. Though you could argue that things like my sticker book didn't deserve their own entry, either. In which case, touché.

Old console/controller boxes! These things have been in the garage since before you were born. The spider inside the Genesis box was enormous and terrifying. If this was a 90s commercial, it would have yelled 'SEGA' at me.

This excellent poster details the hot new games you can get for your Game Boy. That Donkey Kong Land III looks pretty revolutionary, doesn't it? It kind of looks like James Bond is in Cerulean City.

A breakfast cereal collectible card from Babe 2: Pig in the City. I don't know in what sense it is collectible, but dear golly, my collection of one certainly included Thelonius.

One of these books supposedly contained 1001 cool jokes, but I'm not quite positive as to what qualified these jokes as being 'cool'. I certainly didn't feel cooler for owning it. The other book was my secret spy book. And clearly now, the secret is out.

This magical Sylvester head holds stunning secrets. You can keep candy in there! I mean, I'm sure there are other things you can put in there, too...

"No! Just candy, Ned! Ninety dollars!!"

#0055: Resident Evil 3: Nemesis (GC)

I give you fair warning: I'm kind of drunk right now. So if I spout anything incoherent or controversial, I assure you they are not necessarily my views, but the ones forced upon me by my good friend, Mr. Miller.

That being said: Euthanasia! Abortion! Stem-cell research! Cel-shaded Zelda! Controversy is fun when it's also incoherent.

Eight. (I wanted to say 'right', but I mistyped it three times on my iPhone and gave up) Tonight we look to tackle zombie masses, with a series I only have brief history with. The Resident Evil games have been lauded over the years for their eerie atmospheres, clever blend of puzzles and action segments, and the ability to seamlessly introduce sharks in a mansion. That's right: MANSION SHARKS. The fear of every billionaire!

Originally made for the PlayStation, the first title was later re-invented on the Gamecube. And boy, did it look pretty. With approximately four times the graphical power, those zombies were comin' atcha with a whole new look, like a brand new Edgar suit.

Unfortunately, either in an effort to cash in, or a queer way of re-establishing the timeline for RE4's premiere, the next two titles were hastily ported. Resident Evil 3: Nemesis is all 32 bits of terror, brought to you, as the box says, 'in all its original glory'. It's like asking for an iMac and getting the 1998 G3 model. Sure, it's neat and all, but times have changed, and the peak of the iMac came with Zoolander. Henceforth, I'm going to envisage Nemesis as being voiced by Owen Wilson. Golly, almost makes him seem cuddly now!

I've decided that I'm suddenly a BAMF, and I opt to select hard mode. ...At least, I'd like to claim it was because I was a BAMF: in actuality, I selected hard mode by accident. Indeed, the very vibration of the controller and menacing voice stating the title of the game was enough to frighten me.

The game starts with a bang (literally). Jill Valentine, who between RE1 and now has concluded that zombies are best fought in a tube top and miniskirt, muses that this is her last escape, before exploding through a wall like the Kool-Aid man.

A pair of zombies lurch out behind her, and when I first played the game on PlayStation, un-aided by a manual, these zombies were serious trouble. Why wasn't the attack button working?! Was I already out of bullets? A quick squiz at the control screen reveals that you first have to take the attack stance in order to fire, but obviously the zombie invasion had me in such a panic that I failed to realise this. Tragically, I fled right into the waiting arms of a third zombie, who gave me a most unpleasant hickey.

But now, I am a wily veteran. Pow, pow! I shoot the first one in the head, and then dance over his fallen body. Whether it's because hard mode makes them faster, or I'm just an idiot with no depth perception, the second and third zombie close in on me quicker than expected and commence devouring me. Om nom nom! According to lore, that should be the end for me right there, but Jill's a hardy lass who shrugs it off. Regardless, I proceed to piss bolt down the alleyway, squealing like Cyndi Lauper.

So obviously, I'm no better at this game now than I was in 2003, and 2003 Tony was no better at this game then than he was in 1999. I'm glad to know that in a potential zombie invasion, it appears as though I will be quite useless. In all likelihood, I'd probably stay with the dude who locks himself in the shipping container. We could talk about Goof Troop into the wee hours of the morning. Sounds okay to me.

After my inauspicious start, it's a romp through the rendered backgrounds of Raccoon City, fighting for survival and seeking signs of life. Personally, I always struggle trying to find my way around these environments: since every setting is static (save for a camera angle change as you move around), I occasionally have trouble differentiating props from paths. I like to press A to observe everything. I enjoy the concept that Jill would take her eyes off her attackers long enough to note partially eaten food and a discarded toy box. Also, for shits and giggles, I take any opportunity to climb up on things and mock the monsters who are just out of reach. Which was great fun until one of them vomited on my Ugg boots. Fucker.

Twenty minutes into gameplay, and I am so frigging lost, and so frigging out of bullets. It's rapidly shifted from a game of survival into a really upsetting game of tag, and I'm fast lamenting my earlier decision to take pot shots from a balcony, naming the zombies as I shot them.

Finally, after sidestepping countless enemies and eating some green shit I kept finding on the ground, I've made it to the police station, an excellent place for me to chill. Before I can enter however, I'm confronted by the titular Nemesis, who, as you can see from the cover, is not a friendly sort of fellow. He lumbers towards me, muttering 'stars' like an obsessive Javert fanboy, and I'm given the option of running into the police station, or taking his ass out.

The choice is obvious: I'm going to fight him like a (wo)man! Here's a video detailing how it went:

...No, this isn't what actually happened. As you may recall, I had no more bullets, and I've yet to figure out a way of throwing my gun like a boomerang. He killed me quite swiftly. The game handily informs me that I died. I make sure to check that I am actually still alive, and begin typing this entry. Pretty sure its claim was erroneous, but I suppose I could just be a particularly wordy zombie.

As a final side-note, I always felt very morose when fiddling with the options screen. A combination of this music and a depressing grey background of twitching, infected cells certainly made me feel guilty for being there. Dammit, all I wanted was to change to control type B! Don't judge me!!

#0045: Mario Kart Super Circuit

I'm sure a few people out there are getting sick of me pawning off all of these video games in what is purportedly a toy-focussed blog. To them, however, I reply with the consistency of a cannibal's breakfast. Tough!

Tonight, we pay tribute to an excellent little game that is only leaving my possession due to Nintendo giving me free stuff. To elaborate, Nintendo dropped the price of the 3DS not too long ago by about $100. To satiate the loyal fans who had paid full price for their 3DS, Nintendo gave away ten free NES and GBA games to early owners. And this worked out nicely for me, because my 3DS was a gift. So basically, it was a free handheld with free bonuses. I felt like a free man from Fremantle.

These games have definitely gotten a lot of mileage on my 3DS (almost typed that as molestation for some reason). In fact, at 51 hours playtime, Fire Emblem SS has become the most used title of all. As for Mario Kart Super Circuit, possessing it on the 3DS made my existing GBA cartridge expendable. So away it goes, to be enjoyed second-hand, where my once-legendary course records are quickly bested by a smug seven year old. I know this well, because I once was that smug seven year old.


Super Circuit is the third in the beloved Mario Kart series, and was the game I bought with my GBA. It is most similar to the SNES original, because it uses the same graphical manipulation of the map in order to make the appearance of movement in a three-dimensional plane apparent. For that reason, it's best not to play this game immediately after one of the later DS titles. Because your world will quite literally be spinning.

Revisiting this game after more than a decade is certainly proving difficult for me so far. To my dismay, Bowser is controlling exactly as a fat spiky turtle would; miserably and chaotically. And I'm too much of a manly man to shift to the more manageable vehicles of a pink-clad princess or sissy mushroom. No, I'll begrudgingly stick with my big fat man 'till the bitter end, and, by the looks of each failure and lost life, that isn't too far off.

Super Circuit features a few neat little quirks that, for some reason, haven't returned in the sequels. The classic homing red shells have a second feature where they can be planted on the ground, and will chase after the next driver to pass by, which is a spiffy way of protecting a lead, and confusing and frightening players when it happens to them for the first time. Sentient red shells? Madness!!

Also, Super Circuit has a 'quick run' option, which allows you to race any track against a full pack of opponents. Usually, you'd have to reach each track in grand prix mode for the full competitive experience. Unless I'm mistaken, this mode has not appeared in another Mario Kart, and I can't really think of a reason why.

...Well, I could think of a reason, but I doubt it would be correct. My current theory involves raccoons.

In my opinion, Super Circuit has some of the best track design of the series. It's a little hard for me to enjoy them with the passion and competitiveness that I used to because of my aforementioned control difficulties, but I can at least look back at Sky Garden and its ilk with bleary-eyed nostalgia. And if that isn't enough to whet your whistle (what does that mean, exactly? It's always sounded very rude to me), the entire selection of SNES tracks are unlockable to boot. So effectively, you're getting two games' worth of content for the price of one. You're just minus a Koopa Troopa, and you'll have to deal with that in your own way. Me personally, I just pummelled a stationary Wario in battle mode mercilessly. It certainly gave me peace of mind. It also certainly never got me invited to any parties.

Ever since the very original, I have never missed an entry in the series. I have had a long and colourful history with Mario Kart, and this shows no sign of changing as the years go by. I'm a big kid at heart, and video games have still held my fancy for twenty years.

Why, just today I finally evolved my very first Chaos Chao on Sonic Adventure 2 Battle. To those of you who aren't aware of the significance of this, it takes a whole lot of waiting and rebirthing and meticulous animal-related fusion in order for this accomplishment to take place. Yes, after a decade of rearing tubby digital blobs, Chappy has finally morphed into his ultimate form. He was once a cute, cuddly little guy with a cheeky grin, and he's now practically a god!



...I kind of regret that transformation, actually.

Your First Pokémon

It's Valentine's Day today, and more importantly, the birthday of the late, great Steve McNair, and as such, today is too important to merely dismiss with little more than a eulogy for a typewriter.

So, today, we shall reminisce about one of our first true loves. ...Do you remember your first Pokémon?


Bulbasaur was my first Pokémon. It did not get past the first day, unfortunately. I was trying to formulate a clever nickname for it, and clumsily typed in Bulba(PKMN) by accident. Somehow, my thumb then landed upon the start button, and though by all accounts it sounds almost purposeful, I really did not intend to have a Bulbasaur named Bulba(PKMN).

...So I restarted my game. Bulba(PKMN) was no more.

The second Bulbasaur, who I wisely decided to leave unnamed, fared much better. It schooled Gary's Charmander with ease, not even needing assistance from the Potion that I apparently kept in my computer.

And so, me and my Bulbasaur travelled the land. All the while, we seeked other mighty Pokémon to join our six-man posse. And of course, this was back before we all knew about which Pokémon were good, and which were crappy. Toting a Rattata, Pidgey and Caterpie, I was most definitely not an impressive sight to see. I was one of the sad, pitiful fools who learnt the hard way that a wild Metapod knows only how to Harden. What a god-forsaken battle that was, I can scarcely remember who won (oh yeah, not me).

Later, I finally saw fit to name my newly-evolved Venusaur. As the harbinger of all things mighty and grassy, I dubbed that warty mofo Leaves.


Having somehow managed to defeat all eight Gym Leaders, Leaves and I had finally hit the plateau. Quite literally. For we were at the Indigo Plateau. Though not entirely literally, because then we would have actually physically hit the plateau, and that would surely have been pointless.

Armed with a tactfully woeful and simply foolish team, Leaves and I would tackle the Elite Four. Articuno and Zapdos were crucial that day. Leaves held its own in the fray. Vulpix did absolutely nothing, but it looked very pretty. Historic records are hard to find of those epic battles, because a fateful encounter with a MISSINGNO. led to a virus in the Pokémon League computer. Or maybe it was hacked. I can't be sure.

The point is, I would become champion. And, like any great champion, my reign would be surrounded with a great deal of controversy. I burst into the delicate ecosystem of the Cerulean Cave, and killed various rare fauna before snaring the mutated lab creation Mewtwo within the experimental Master Ball.

I had previously considered catching a Weedle in this ball, but cooler heads prevailed. To the victor go the spoils!

But I wanted more. I wanted to be the most powerful trainer in the land, but I didn't want to work for it. I would seek out that same MISSINGNO. and, through some sort of wicked magic I can't decipher, battling it multiplied the seventh item I had been carrying by the hundreds. It took two attempts to get this right, because the first time I had a bicycle there. It was a really awkward moment when hundreds of bicycles shot from out of my pants. Good thing Cinnabar Island only has a population of about eight, otherwise people might have started asking questions.

So now, I had a jackpot of Rare Candies. Their properties caused Pokémon growth to accelerate, and as their name implied, they were harder to find than the McDonald's Lowly Worm. However, I had outsmarted the system. In my possession, they were practically Common Candy. I force-fed Leaves the lollies by the shovel-load, and now, the Level 100 Venusaur was the pride of Canada, worthy of joining the greats.


The next few years would pass without incident, until I made a visit to Goldenrod City in Johto. I left Leaves at the daycare like a responsible parent while I played the slots at the Game Corner, and when I returned, I made a shocking discovery.

Leaves was a broad. And she had been knocked up by an Ampharos.

I of course sued the daycare for negligence, and after months that seemed like merely 5355 steps, Leaves had given birth to two sons; Leaves II and Shrubs. At least something good came out of such a dark encounter. To this day, however, I've never trusted a sheep, for fear that it'll sprout a ruby orb from its tail, shed its fur, and make love to my plants. Note, I said PLANTS. With an 'L'.

Leaves has since retired, and recently celebrated her thirteenth birthday. She watches as these fancy new creatures come and go, and as each bright-eyed trainer receives their very own first Pokémon from a professor named after a tree. These are the golden years, she thinks, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Every now and then, she gathers with her old friends, and reminisces over the good old days, and their glorious reign as supplement-taking behemoths. The Ninetales, formerly the dainty Vulpix, still a looker at this ripe old age. The Dragonite, who destroyed all in his path, and has the history of arrests to prove it. All except the Alakazam, who was a know-it-all and a prick. Plus, Leaves could hardly ever understand a word he said.


...Do you remember your first Pokémon?