MuffinZone

HERE.
This is where you will be fighting Commies.
With hover tanks.

Ok, some of you more... 'cultured'... readers out there may have heard of a game, released sometime in the mid/early 90's called Battlezone, and no, I'm not talking about the arcade game that looked like Tron and Doom drank a bottle of Black Velvet, did some LSD and then produced a child who would one day forge the one ring and have dominion over Middle Earth.  That's the wrong Battlezone.  The one I'm talking about involves fighting the Russians on the Moon with hover tanks during the cold war.  And no, that shit I'm actually not making up.

The official 1980's view of Russians courtesy
of capitalist America.
And yes, doing this on the moon would be a poor choice.

Now, to start off, this game was made in the 90's, so, it's old, but, contrary to popular belief these days, that does not mean it's shit.  It still looks presentable, the gameplay is still unparlleled in its genre, and the story is, well, it's still a story about America fighting Russia in space during the cold war over alien tech with hover tanks and mechsuits.  That alone should sell you on the game, oh, and one more thing, the word 'sell' isn't exactly appropriate here, since the game is, how do you say in America... FREE.  So, there's really no reason for you not to play this game, unless you have a crippling fear of joy, happiness, being American, or the empty void of space and decompression (in soviet russia, atmosphere decompresses you), in which case I think you may have a valid point.  But, for everyone out there who celebrates the fourth of July like a patriot and won't let a silly thing like a lack of breathable atmosphere hinder them from kicking commie ass throughout the solar system, then this, this is a game for you.

Ah, I love the smell of decompressing Russians
in the morning.

Onto the actual game.  It's a blend of a RTS and an FPS, you control your soldier or hover tank from a first person perspective, but also manage building a base, ordering other units, collecting resources and building an army, from said first-person-perspective.  That sounds a little... unwieldy.  But, in practice, it's not.  Harvesting in largely automated, and the menu system for building is quite streamilined, many modern games could stand to learn something here.  The unit commands also work well, although it is here that the FPS nature does hinder the game a bit, but, the strategies needed are not terribly complex, and with a little prep work some nifty tactics are pretty easy to accomplish.  The only main complain here is the A.I. which is, well, mid 90's A.I., which is to say Ham-Shit, no, not just 'shit', Ham-Shit, the shit that you get after eating a holiday meal with the family where your only escape from uncle bob's conspiracy theories is more ham, and that ham has nothing but malevolence for your digestion, and the shit which that ham ferments into is nothing more than pure, distilled, 150 proof evil.  That said, it doesn't break the game, it's still enjoyable, just be prepared for some frustration with pathfinding and targeting.

Anyway, I don't want to give away the story, because, well, surprising as it may be, a game about fighting 1970's era Ruskies on the moon actually has a decent plot, one worth playing though.  So, no spoilers for you.  Onto my arbitrary rating system:

Graphics: If you don't want to lower your standards you might need beer goggles this time, but hey, at least you don't need Black Velvet goggles.
Gameplay: patriotism at its best, only capitalists could mix RTS and FPS this well
Story: grade A ++, no utter fucking nonsense, no amnesia, just a giant ass government cover-up that miraculously doesn't sound like you estranged uncle who insists on wearing an aluminum foil hat at thanksgiving.
American-ism: we fucking won the cold war didn't we.
The Moon: still a bastard
A.I.: this is where you may actually want the Black Velvet goggles.

Overall Verdict:  your only valid excuse not to play this game is a crippling fear of enjoying life and being american, which is only a valid excuse if you a.) like in New Jersey or b.) are Fidel Castro.

New Jersey:
You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Final Muffins: Muffiny Fate

So, it's been about a month, and you know what's happened in that month since you were last educated about vaccines and their relationship to playboy models?  Well, SHIT GOT REAL.  That's what happened.  People have been maced in the fucking face over technology that was new before the housing market and the global economy got into that huge bitching contest back in '08.  But, you know what else?  No, fuck no you don't.  You didn't even know what I just told you, you might not even speak American anymore, for all I know, you think we're back in the middle ages.  And that, dear children, is because FINALS WEEK is once again upon us.

Look at this penguin.
Look upon him.
AND DESPAIR.

Yes, FINALS WEEK, that cheery christmasy time of year when people are festive, decorations are hung, eggnog is nog'd, reindeer are suddenly culturally relevant, people stop giving a fuck about Lady Gaga and listen to surprisingly inappropriate classic christmas music.  Also, if you're in college during this time of year, this wintery wonderland of magic and happiness, rife with elves and polar bears to be boxed, might, just might, look a bit like hell.

That's right, Hell.  And I don't mean fucking Kansas.  But that's damn close.

And right now, this personal hell isn't going to make any damn sense to you.  Because your brain is fucking fried.  It's like you just got drunk off history and differential equations but no amount of vomiting will make it better, because history's a bitch, and a half, well, more like a bitch with a midget bitch as a pet, that the full-sized bitch rides like a bitchy steed into battle, so she can smite the whores.  Now, why were the whores smited?  Because they represented the hope that your brain had.  And now they're gone, disemboweled and feasted upon by midget history bitch gremlins.

Maybe the 1950's weren't so bad after all.

So, your hopes and dreams are all belong to the bitches' intestines.  And those bitches be crazy, so, you don't really want them back.  BUT WHAT YOU DO WANT.  Is FREEDOM.  Cuz this is AMERICA.  And you shall look upon the wasteland that the bitches of history and science have wrought upon your personal hellscape and you shall yell into the horizon "Yippie Ki Yay-- MOTHERFUCKERS!!!"  And you shall give no more fucks.  Because all your fucks have been given, or maybe there were simply none to give in the first place, alas, these existential questions are not for us to ponder, for the ass is bountiful, there are many kicks to be made, and time is short.

So, the ass is plentiful, the kicks abound, and time is the limiting reagent is this equation of intellectual disembowelment.  You know what this means.  Your mission, if you choose to accept it, and you will because you're not a Canadia and are in no way related to a certain Mr. Travolta, is to kick Mr. Hawking's ass until relativity is your pretty little bitch.  And then you shall bend time to your will and you shall kick the asses until the ending of the age.  And when historians in the eons to follow discover the site where the ass was all kicked, they will look upon the site, they will examine the site, they will consult experts in assology, and they will conclude that the ass never even existed.

To be fair though, I wouldn't argue with free vodka.

But, the asses aside-- that's an issue for future assologists, not you, it is not for your enfeebled mind.  Your main concern: EVERYTHING IS TRYING TO KILL YOU.  I mean, it is finals week.  And before you can kick all the ass, you must survive-- EVERYTHING.  Particularly your own body.  Now, I've mentioned this before, but well, sleep is trying to kill you.  BUT, it is your right, as an AMERICAN, to try and kill it right the fuck back.  But sleep is all in your mind?  So how do you kill it, surely your mind is a good American?  Right?  FUCKING WRONG.  There's a damn commie living in there, fucking up your cerebrum, forcing you to try to make vodka from instant mashed potatoes and having you sign arms treaties with North Korea in your sleep while trying to develop an anti-capitalism blender: capitalist milk and ice cream in- sadness and socialism out- just like Sarah Palin.

Remember, Remember the 13th of December
Lawmower, disembowlment and cops.
For I know no reason, the Lawnmower Treason
Should ever have been stopped.

Oh, and your shower, that's trying to kill you.  You think that water's all falling on you benignly, with loveing kindness to wash away the foul stench of socialism that's permeated your very being as you've fermented all those long hours in the classroom.  NO.  That water is the real terrorist threat.  Every drop a suicide bomber.  And every dead skin cell washed away a casualty.  Beware!  For the shampoo is a detergent, and the water seeks only to eliminate your coefficient of friction keeping you firmly planted on this bit of capitalist soil so that gravity might work it's dark magics that it hath summoned forth from the dark realms where the tall grass waits with lurking monsters to devour thy ankles to feed the terror machines of the ancients.  All that to say: don't slip in the shower, or drop the soap, depending on where you're showering, and if you go in the tall grass then for fuck's sake don't pick Charmander as your starting pokemon, unless you enjoy being raped by Pidgeys.  Or hell, just use a fucking lawnmower-- SUPEREFFECTIVE BITCHES, but weak against rock types, they'll still fuck you up, and raise your insurance rates, and please, don't try to explain this to the cops, just shut the fuck up until you get an attorney; because I guarantee you the cop won't give a damn about how many badges you think you've earned by mowing the school's lawn 36 times at 4am and by running over every squirrel and freshman in a 4 mile radius, he'll give you a sobriety test, and when you fail, you can explain how close your lawnmower is to evolving into a fucking field tractor.

Oh, and don't use me as your one phone call- I'll say you have a meth lab.

Somehow, we taught this to a fucking duck.
And Sarah Fucking Palin, which might be more impressive.

Oh, you're still stuck on the part where there's a disembodied commie living in your brain.  And you want to know how to kill it.... um.... honestly, my first thought is a grisly bear, but I'm not sure how the fuck you'd get on into your brain and sure as fucking hell don't have a damn idea how you'd get it back out, cuz once it's in, your spine is going to look like a stream of salmon descended straight from the heavens.  And you don't want a bear in your spine.  No one does.  Unless you're into that.  But that's... odd... I don't even want to know... forget I even said that.  BUT. What you could do with that bear is box it, put a big damn UPS label on it and ship it that commie's family and hold them for ransom against a motherfucking angry bear and see how dedicated to the Motherland that bastard really is.  And by 'that bastard', I mean your professors, they're the disembodied commies living in yo brain.  They're the ones that receive tenure based solely on how many of you they can make lose faith in America, Santa Clause, and Hershey's Chocolate.

If that were part of the immune system
the swine flu would have stayed the fuck
in swine and left our damn bacon alone.
THAT BACON WAS INNOCENT.

So yes, it's finals week, and everything is trying to kill you, particularly your own brain, literally, this time in a scientific way, because when you're drunk off history fighting the communism of math, your brain tends to stop giving a fuck, and when it does that, it releases stress hormones, to try to get you to stop giving a fuck as well, because clearly, you're giving out your fucks like a Santa Clause that lost his naughty list.  And what those stress hormones do is, well, a whole damn lot of things, but the part that can kill you, well, ONE of the parts that can kill you is that they suppress your immune system, so that anything can kill you, or at least make you miserable, or, things can team up and try to kill you, like an Iron Curtain Tag Team match from hell inside yo cells, with MRSA and H1N1 fuckin' yo shit up like it's 1999 and the governator's still making movies.

Oh, and refrigerators, never trust them, or fuck them.  That's some good advice to live by.

Patriot Muffin

So, it's obviously now two days after July 4th, so for those of you who will give me crap for writing this now; well, you are obviously not American enough to be reading this. However, if you are not American enough, I know a film that can rip out your inner Canadian, tie it to a monster truck with the good old red, white, and blue and launch it into an Olympic-sized swimming pool full of cheeseburgers and Red Bull.

Independence Day is perhaps the greatest patriotic film of all time. Why is this, you may ask? This is because of the plot, which I am about to summarize fantastically (so yeah, spoiler alert and all that junk).

A race of hyper-advanced, genocidal, resource sucking, planet killing, bio-suit sporting, telepathic alien freaks roll up to our shiny little blue ball of mud and decide they want our dirt. So they park their 1/4 moon-sized space ship in orbit, and send death-discs down to rain super-napalm on our cities. Now, as far as the movie is concerned most of Earth's nations on the planet don't do anything other than chill and watch as their little civilizations are taken to flamey-ville. All nations, that is, except America.

America sees these big discs chilling over our cities and says, okay aliens, perhaps we'll see if we can be friends, and then take your technology; but of course the space freaks don't like our hovering light-bright, and decide to level New York, LA, and Washington. Now obviously, this pisses us off a little bit. Will Smith is the first to show how we really feel, giving an American-style Earth greeting. Then the re-incarnation of JFK steps in and says hey, my hair is too awesome for me to die, so let's kill 'em; right after I give the most patriotic speech of all time (yeah, that's right Lincoln..."Four-score and seven years ago"...psssssh, you've got nothing).

So Will and the world's smartest hippie/computer scientist roll up to the mother ship in a fighter we jacked in the 50's and kick alien rear with Windows 3.1 and a nuke. This sub-sequentially screws over all the little ships hovering around our rock, and America decides to be a champ and tell all the other nations: "Hey, fly a fighter-jet into the glowing green thing." (Which, by the way, further proves the theory that the weak point is always the thing to which the bad guys draw the most attention). This causes them to explode, and the world is saved thanks to good old Uncle Sam.

Now, at this point you should be saying to yourself: "This sounds like the greatest movie ever, and I would gladly pay my monies to see it." And you, fine reader, would be correct. This film is a patriotic cake baked with great acting, iced with amazing special effects, and sprinkled with great emotion and humor. It should be a mandatory viewing experience every year on the day it's named after, if not several other times all year.

Just remember aliens: We're America, and we'll wreck you :D

> EpicError

Muffin Wrench

This is a bit of an older game now, with no shortage of reviews out there telling you that's it's great, game of the year, a life-changing epiphany waiting to happen, possibly the cure for ebola, or just a game worth sinking 12ish hours of your life into. But, I like this game, and I have a witty title that ties into the gameplay and muffins, so I'm writing it whether you like it or not. Even if you don't like horror games, play this, it's not horror, it's awesome, you can't help but like it, and if you don't, you may be a communist, and since this game has a retro 60ish feel to it, that means that by default you'll be exiled by your friends and neighbors and that the local gas station won't serve 'your kind' anymore, kinda like C3P0, yes, not liking this game would make you that annoying. But, if you're reading this, I'll assume you're not a commie, and you're not annoying, mainly so I can sleep at night knowing that the dirty reds aren't being entertained by my writing nor are they being guided through the capitalist petri dish that is America, rather that they are floundering around out there, trying to figure out why the hell radioshacks even exists, but, then, the average american might not even know that anymore. But I digress.

Though on a related topic similar to communism and broken down reactors that make entire cities uninhabitable, for some odd reason, we as human beings seem to have a strange fascination with wandering around a failed dystopian society whilst being the lone sane person left alive and killing everything else. And if this fantasy is one that you have every day at work, on your drive to wherever the hell it is that you decided to go, or simply when you're around other people, then Bioshock is likely a game that will fullfil your deepest desires and leave every other aspect of your life feeling comparatively empty. Is this to say that the game is a dream come true? Well, maybe, maybe not; while it will certainly fuck your dreams over with a steam powered blender and to a 50's era soundtrack just like in your twisted dystopian fantasies, it does have some drawbacks. It has no multiplayer: no co-op (which would have been awesome, like, crawling around Chernobyl fighting mutant commies awesome) , no versus, no CTF, nothing. To me that's a missed opportunity. But would you really want to share your dystopian fantasy world with your friends? No, of course you wouldn't, it's your dystopia, and all the miscreants in it are your bitches, and you're not in a sharing mood. Sharing is for commies anyway. But the lack of multiplayer is, sadly, not your perfect dystopia's worst flaw: the save system is. While it's not the horrendous holocaust grade trajedy that was the password system of old, it is something akin to finding out that the hot girl you just drunkenly hit on was your sister, or worse yet, your mom's sister; it's bad, game-breakingly bad. It makes dying more of an inconveinence than anything, or, in some cases, even the prefered method of playing the game. And only the commies prefer to play games by dying for mother russia; Americans survive, like McGyver, or Chuck Norris: we don't die like those commie death whores.

Oh, and you play Pipe Dream as a minigame; I'm not joking. I thought that had died with Windows 3.11, but, i guess if you're gonna have a minigame you can at least pick a classic and give it a slightly shiny new coat of paint. But it is a lump in an otherwise smooth and creamy milkshake of gaming goodness; but hey, some people like lumpy milkshakes as is their right, in America: but in Soviet Russia, milk shakes you.

Now, the good about this little, personal, communist free apocalypse. For one, it's beautiful; the Unreal 3 engine does a superb job of rendering this game, especially for the 360. It's not the prettiest game, especially not for the PC, but everything fits together perfectly. The art style is, well, art. This game could be put in a museum and, not only would it be the most badass piece of art there, but it would piss on the mona lisa and scare away the small children; basically, it's the perfect piece of art and a general improvement to society in general. But not only is it beautiful and a functional scarecrow for the elderly and the infantile, it's gameplay is fast paced (usually, with a few rare exceptions), well balanced, fluid (ok, the system's a bit clunky, but it works beautifully), atmospheric (the first five minutes of this game draw you in as nothing else before or since in my experience), stays fresh for the entire game (really, the game never gets old, and rarely repetitive), and is some of the most satisfying combat in a FPS game (possible exceptin being the Condemned games, but they're different, lets compare apples to apples here, or at least toasters to stainless steel toasters). But really, one of the greatest points of this game is it's plot, and the way it's told; you can't get this in any other medium: not movies, not books, maybe comics, but that's a stretch. It's phenomenal, I can't spoil anything for you, I won't, only a communist would do that; and if you have a friend that did spoil it for you, they're a communist, and you should email your state's governor to have them hauled off to a commie-camp, or at least start telling people that this friend has the herpes, everywhere, and is contagious, all the time, so that way people will avoid eye contact with them and treat everything they say as meaningless herpes induced alphabet vomit.

Essentially, if you enjoy, life, freedom, happiness, cars, and the right for every random person you meet to potentially be carrying a boomstick in their pocket and a miniature poodle in their purse, then you'll like this game, or at least enjoy it more than licking Oprah's fat rolls.