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#451
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#452
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Also, finally clocked GTA4 the other day. We were trying to 100% it and so didn't just go hell for leather for the missions (plus I moved out of home a year ago, so not played it as much).
Great game, but kinda loses its momentum. Bit too much stuff to do. Think we're about 75% done
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Bring back the 8 Ball! |
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#453
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can still have great online co-op, but just wish it wasn't at the expense of the non-online co-op
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Bring back the 8 Ball! |
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#454
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Oh good you as well |
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#455
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#456
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Just finished Arkham Asylum. Need to get gold on some of the combat challenges to get 100% but might not bother - I'm pretty shit at them tbf.
Borderlands next.
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Craig Bellamy >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Got Lucky. You heard it here first. |
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#457
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Got borderlands yesterday, only tried it out momentarily, it was fine.
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Miggs. If you're reading this, you're probably on a very old thread. |
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#458
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A nod to a great game on the PS1, Abe's Oddysee
http://www.computerandvideogames.com....php?id=240385 I have just started Oblivion Elder Scrolls. I have been messing around for ages getting a stove installed, its more or less finished so it is now worth my while setting my Wii up again - a bit of Mario Galaxy and Resi 4 will be on the cards soon.
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303 power |
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#459
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people in glass houses have to answer the door |
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#460
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Video games: the addictionTom Bissell was an acclaimed, prize-winning young writer. Then he started playing the video game Grand Theft Auto. For three years he has been cocaine addicted, sleep deprived and barely able to write a word. Any regrets? Absolutely none
(411)Tweet this (269)Tom Bissell The Observer, Sunday 21 March 2010 Article history Niko Bellic, the lead character in Grand Theft Auto IV. Once upon a time I wrote in the morning, jogged in the late afternoon and spent most of my evenings reading. Once upon a time I wrote off as unproductive those days in which I had managed to put down "only" a thousand words. Once upon a time I played video games almost exclusively with friends. Once upon a time I did occasionally binge on games, but these binges rarely had less than a fortnight between them. Once upon a time I was, more or less, content. "Once upon a time" refers to relatively recent years (2001-2006), during which I wrote several books and published more than 50 pieces of magazine journalism and criticism – a total output of, give or take, 4,500 manuscript pages. I rarely felt very disciplined during this half decade, though I realise this admission invites accusations of disingenuousness. Obviously I was disciplined. These days I have read from start to finish exactly two works of fiction – excepting those I was also reviewing – in the last year. These days I play video games in the morning, play video games in the afternoon and spend my evenings playing video games. These days I still manage to write, but the times I am able to do so for more than three sustained hours have the temporal periodicity of comets with near-earth trajectories. For a while I hoped that my inability to concentrate on writing and reading was the result of a charred and overworked thalamus. I knew the pace I was on was not sustainable and figured my discipline was treating itself to a rumspringa. I waited patiently for it to stroll back on to the farm, apologetic but invigorated. When this did not happen, I wondered if my intensified attraction to games and my desensitised attraction to literature were reasonable responses to how formally compelling games had quite suddenly become. Three years into my predicament, my discipline remains awol. Games, meanwhile, are even more formally compelling. It has not helped that during the past three years I have, for what seemed like compelling reasons at the time, frequently upended my life, moving from New York City to Rome to Las Vegas to Tallinn, Estonia, and back, finally, to the United States. With every move I resolved to leave behind my video game consoles, counting on new surroundings, unfamiliar people and different cultures to enable a rediscovery of the joy I once took in my work. Shortly after arriving in Rome, Las Vegas and Tallinn, however, the lines of gameless resolve I had chalked across my mind were wiped clean. In Rome this took two months; in Vegas two weeks; in Tallinn two days. Thus I enjoy the spendthrift distinction of having purchased four Xbox 360 consoles in three years, having abandoned the first to the care of a friend in Brooklyn, left another floating around Europe with parties unknown, and stranded another with a pal in Tallinn (to the irritation of his girlfriend). The last Xbox 360 I bought has plenty of companions: a GameCube, a PlayStation 2 and a PlayStation 3. Writing and reading allow one consciousness to find and take shelter in another. When the minds of the reader and writer perfectly and inimitably connect, objects, events and emotions become doubly vivid – more real, somehow, than real things. I have spent most of my life seeking out these connections and attempting to create my own. Today, however, the pleasures of literary connection seem leftover and familiar. Today the most consistently pleasurable pursuit in my life is playing video games. Unfortunately, the least useful and financially solvent pursuit in my life is also playing video games. For instance, I woke up this morning at 8am fully intending to write this article. Instead, I played Left 4 Dead until 5pm. The rest of the day went up in a blaze of intermittent catnaps. It is now 10pm and I have only just started to work. I know how I will spend the late, frayed moments before I go to sleep tonight, because they are how I spent last night and the night before that: walking the perimeter of my empty bed and carpet-bombing the equally empty bedroom with promises that tomorrow will not be squandered. I will fall asleep in a futureless, strangely peaceful panic, not really knowing what I will do the next morning and having no firm memory of who, or what, I once was. The first video game I can recall having to force myself to stop playing was Rockstar's Grand Theft Auto: Vice City, which was released in 2002. I managed to miss Vice City's storied predecessor, Grand Theft Auto III, so I had only oblique notions of what I was getting into. A friend had lobbied me to buy Vice City, so I knew its basic premise: you are a cold-blooded jailbird looking to ascend the bloody social ladder of the fictional Vice City's criminal under- and overworld. (I also knew that Vice City's violent subject matter was said to have inspired crime sprees by a few of the game's least stable fans. Other such sprees would horribly follow. Eight years later, Rockstar has spent more time in court than a playground-abutting pesticide manufactory.) I might have taken better note of the fact that my friend, when speaking of Vice City, admitted he had not slept more than four hours a night since purchasing it and had the ocular spasms and fuse-blown motor reflexes to prove it. Just what, I wanted to know, was so specifically compelling about Vice City? "Just get it and play it," he answered. "You can do anything you want in the game. Anything." My friend's promise proved to be an exaggeration, but not by very much. You control a young man named Tommy, who has been recently released from prison. He arrives in Vice City – an oceanside metropolis obviously modelled on the Miami of 1986 or so – only to be double-crossed during a coke deal. A few minutes into the game, you watch a cut scene in which Tommy and his lawyer (an anti-Semitic parody of an anti-Semitic parody) decide that revenge must be taken and the coke recovered. Once the cut scene ends, you step outside your lawyer's office. A car is waiting for you. You climb in and begin your drive to the mission destination (a clothing store) clearly marked on your map. The first thing you notice is that your car's radio can be tuned to a number of different radio stations. What is playing on these stations is not a loop of upbeat midi video-game songs or some bombastic score written for the game, but Michael Jackson, Hall and Oates, Cutting Crew and Luther Vandross. While you are wondering at this, you hop a curb, run over some pedestrians and slam into a parked car, all of which a nearby police officer sees. He promptly gives chase. And for the first time you are off, speeding through Vice City's various neighbourhoods. You are still getting accustomed to the driving controls and come into frequent contact with jaywalkers, oncoming traffic, street lights, fire hydrants. Soon your pummelled car (you shed your driver's door two blocks ago) is smoking. The police, meanwhile, are still in pursuit. You dump the dying car and start to run. How do you get another car? As it happens, a sleek little sporty number called the Stinger is idling beneath a stop light right in front of you. This game is called Grand Theft Auto, is it not? You approach the car, hit the assigned button, and watch Tommy rip the owner from the vehicle, throw him on to the street and drive off. Wait – look there! A motorcycle. Can you drive motorcycles, too? After another brutal vehicular jacking, you fly off an angled ramp in cinematic slow motion while ELO's "Four Little Diamonds" strains the limits of your television's pound-coin-sized speakers. You have now lost the cops and swing around to head back to your mission, the purpose of which you have forgotten. It gradually dawns on you that this mission is waiting for you to reach it. You do not have to go if you do not want to. Feeling liberated, you drive around Vice City as day gives way to night. When you finally hop off the bike, the citizens of Vice City mumble and yell insults. You approach a man in a construction worker's outfit. He stops, looks at you and waits. The game does not give you any way to interact with this man other than through physical violence, so you take a swing. The fight ends with you stomping the last remaining vitality from the hapless construction worker's blood-squirting body.
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THE SOLUTION TO OUR LEFT BACK PROBLEM MIGHTY TUSKO - ELEPHANT OF DOOM "Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity."
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