Due to a lack of available resources and creative dissonance I felt a influencing compulsion to indulge in some powerful nostalgic proclivities. Now I just have to decide what? Well PS Store has a fine selection of classic PS2 titles remastered with high definition ratio to satisfy my current nostalgic mood. Ah, GTA: San Andreas; the memories, the glory, the feels. One of the most supporting advocates for adolescent indolence. Many an hour/day/week/month were exclusively dedicated to inciting racially motivated violence in suburbs where you couldn’t even trust your own adoptive family. Gorging myself on fast food, just to watch in fascination as my ever expanding stomach swelled so much that it prompted a very graphic expulsion of half digested food and stomach lining to project from my mouth. Occasionally assisting the hood with any number of vacillating errands that only I was adequately qualified to deal with, apparently! And of course engaging in amorous vehicular trysts with women who’d satisfy your carnal desires by writhing up and down on the passenger chair while you both stare blankly out of the window. So it’s no wonder I feel vindicated in popping their pixilated heads under my newly appropriated car. Yes reminiscing about such churlish endeavours is enough to provoke any man-child into purchasing a classic game, at only a fraction of its original retail price. Yet its funny the details your deceptively scrupulous mind can invariably be when you recollect something you regard with such profound affection. How it chooses to discriminate against the faults, yet preserves the good with such diligence. Because I forgot just how hilariously glitchy this game truly was. Not in a bad, this game doesn’t work kind of way, but more of a “how did this ever make it through product testing” kind. So for your viewing discomfort is a series of failures perpetrated by the developers as well as myself. Particular an incident with a rather cumbersome combine harvester which actually gathers momentum quicker when upside-down. Enjoy.
The most significant allure of gaming has always been escapism. The ability to manifest vicariously in a rudimentary world without the repressive boundaries of law and regulations. These are the required extremities of reality that enables humanity to sustain a semblance of moral equanimity, providing a safe moderated environment for communities to feel secure. For most of us committing a felony, however trivial are notions we wouldn’t dare consider in the real world. We are aware of our limitations in a civilised society and are dependent on the continued complicity of these rules to enforce stability. Which is why the absence of such measures provokes such shock, particularly when the circumstances are so unspeakably loathsome. Unfortunately the same outrage is often erroneously remonstrated against some inherently violent games, with a similar resentment applied to “Grand Theft Auto”. This particular series is in no way exclusively affiliated with media controversy, as many games that depict any kind of salacious content are adjudged as a corruptible influence on encouragable youths, which is like blaming performance enhancing drugs rather than Lance Armstrong for cheating. If someone crashes their car because they were speeding you blame the individual, not the vehicle for enabling them to drive so dangerously?! You can’t plead innocence when it was an entirely intentional decision, especially one bred from your own selfish volition. Call of Duty has been reproached for glorifying modern conflicts and war in general. Manhunt apparently encouraged a teenager to murder his friend, seemingly at the behest of an inanimate object. But there’s something more sensationalised about detailing the harmful influence an inert product has on an a kid, than the explicit behavioural deficiencies of one unstable individual that shouldn’t have been playing the game in the first place.
Gaming appears to ignite a very singular ignorance, with the media littered with heinous instances perpetrated by individuals with questionable psychological standings. Generating political interventions into matters that they don’t really understand. You then have inconclusive studies that suggest that these violent computer games “might” permanently afflict the fragile mind of a youth, but probably not. It’s hard to determine for certain that it doesn’t contribute at all, but when an incident does occur that can be attributed to a game, movie or television show – however tenuous the connection – it’s so highly publicised because of its unique severity that to me it’s blown out of all proportion. But any erstwhile censorship that is then applied to such content in an effort to regulate the distribution to under age consumers, only makes such games more enticing.
I purchased my first ever copy of GTA from a rather dubious retailer, that sadly went insolvent around 15 years ago. I was probably 11 or 12 years old at the time, when disclaimers and 18 certifications on a game were somewhat of an advisory stipulation rather than a law that you had to abide by. It was the original, top down view for the PS1 and I loved it. Played it for days. Not because it was violent or destructive, but because there was a free flowing environment for me to interact with, either positively or negatively. I was playing this series totally oblivious to the controversy surrounding it. Even at a young age I wasn’t concerned with the violence because I could discern between what was real or make believe. Here was a game that relished in exerting freedom, creating an affluent depiction of crime and rewarding mischievous behaviour. You could be considerate to pedestrians lives or callously run them down with a chuckle, before being pursued by cops that shoot first and read you your rights while you lie in a pool of your own excrement. Sure games are dictated by their own maniacal rules, the dutiful caveats of virtual reality like invisible walls, but rarely is that due to litigation or the enforcement of the law. Personally I don’t relish killing innocents or necessarily condone the reprehensible acts that you are encouraged to perpetrate in order to survive, but that’s kind of the point. GTA has always enforced a world without limitations, where you decide just how bad you can be. There’s something so effusive about severing the directorial shackles of mundane life that bounds us. To be uninhibited by the strict regulations of reality and embrace a skewed adherence to the formalities of perceived reality and just go a little bonkers.
The so called controversy so often affiliated with games like this just makes them more alluring. And I mean how violent is it really? I’d argue that Super Mario is an inherently violent game, encouraging children to stamp on defenceless animals and rescue women from castles who are no more than plot devices?! The Goombas don’t even have any arms to defend themselves! And if someone decided to start imitating that, by jumping on the heads of old men at bus stop you’d say that they were one stick short of a bundle. What’s the point of playing GTA if you can’t indulge in your subverted sociopathic inclinations? If you are that concerned with moralising artificial deaths then a world where Donald Trump can be elected President must terrify you (it does me too). I think anything that encourages cognitive and creative versatility can only be therapeutic for the mind. It’s cathartic to exercise the freedom to act out scenarios you couldn’t – and wouldn’t in reality and revoke the confines of social civility. To act without sustained retaliation and inhabit an alluring persona you would never want to be for more than a fleeting period. Some would call this unhealthy or even dangerous, a negative conciliation of exposed brutality that amalgamates into an encouraged hostility towards others, outside the confines of a fictional world. I call it fun. Nurturing that slightly anarchic inclination that is a rooted psychology buried deep below the surface in all of us.
The visceral intensity is one partial factor that attracts me to games like GTA. Shattering the conventions of normality by letting you be as good or as naughty as you choose, allowing any pent up frustrations to release gradually in an environment that doesn’t hurt anyone. But I also tend to gravitate towards games with robust environments. A fully interactive world that can be traversed and explored at my leisure. That to me represents the fundamental principles of a perfect game. Investing hours of time dedicated to exploration is rather time consuming, so rather than confining myself to one arbitrary errand I’d like to just takes some time out, explore, and perhaps run down a few hookers. And an open world game provides me with a versatile platform to engage in those primal instincts that have been dulled by the arbitrary exploits of my boring day at work. I can understand, for the uninitiated that is, how being confronted with public victimisation of the citizens, depicted so blatantly in GTA may seem horrifying, especially when flaunted as a viable alternative for entertainment. The violence could be considered gratuitous or even vile, if it were real. But it isn’t. It’s a work of fiction, like a book or film that depicts similar fictitious scenarios. And it’s GTA’s rueful attitude towards controversy that has allowed it to maintain its popularity, despite its contentious place in modern culture. If you’re discerning with genres or applying limitations then that just seems like compromise rather than expression.
For all of its scrutiny, its harsh satirical themes and graphic tones, GTA continues to be a rewarding series with more heart and soul than many AAA games on the market. Long may its explicit violence, abundance of (somehow?) concealed weaponry, reckless driving, diverse range of playable characters and, above all, vehicular thievery continue.
What is your favourite GTA game? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.
Hello, my name is Karl and I’m GTAlcoholic. It’s a terminal condition, one allegedly benign as long as fomented harassment is averted with permanent intermission. The overture for my prostrated dependency formed from the simple elocution of GTA’s alluring influence, or words to that effect. It was during the heady, felonious days of Vice City that enamoured much of my capricious obsession. Cruising from one equitable establishment to another, with occasional misdemeanour’s and vigorous chainsaw assaults on stray vagrants to amuse me between monetary restitution’s was my daily grind. Recollections of those days are still vividly deposited at the forefront of mind, as my exerted struggle for dominion over the province of Vice City finally recompensed my abhorrent contempt for human existence, with the gilded appurtenances of power! Such as exotic cars, an inert depositary cached in my elasticated back pocket (Is that a Semi……..automatic rifle or are you just, oh, it is.) and the acquisition of a property so garish even Scrooge McDuck would have to loan his nephews into prostitution to afford it. A bespoke mansion that is the physical construct of my own ruminant ambition. “Kneel before me trivial, pixellated pedestrians!” But all of these acclaimed memories are supplanted by the pronounced musical accompaniment that was so much more vivacious and infuriating! You see “I just ran. I ran all night and day!” AHHH! Get out of my head! Years of selfish abuse has consolidated a thrift of nostalgic music into my fractured mind, displacing most of my accomplishments with a suggestive influence derived from such auxiliary, often subliminal notations.
When I say that these audited harbingers have blighted my life, I literally mean they make me grimace in anguish. My face contorts into snarl as if I’ve just discovered Michael Bay is remaking Back To The Future with the Wayans Brothers. Yet all the while my foot taps, my hand clenches into a fist as I retract my arm inward like a 90’s singer impeaching his love for an unspecified woman, as my pursed mouth instinctively unfurled and mimics “Video killed the radio star” with muted reciprocation, yet again provoking nauseating acrimony! Every-time an accursed song plays on the radio that correlates with this game, I become emotionally crippled, riddled by composite synchronism of nostalgic mirth and inhibited malice. Years of abstinence from this game had negated many of its residual provocations; the subordinate characters, the satirical perception on 80’s culture and the overt pastiche of the decades movie and television shows (most notably Scarface and Miami Vice). My artifice was one composed of deliberate omission, to forget everything about this game…….and I failed in spectacular fashion! I haven’t ever suppressed its luminance. I mean I can still negotiate around Vice City better than my own home! But its the synthesised melodies that have never truly abated my peripheral subconscious. From Flock of Seagulls to Slayer, the variation of 80’s music permeated throughout Vice City, instilling “I just died in your arms tonight. It must have been something you said” grr! INSTILLING the ambient absurdity of that decade. The negligence of affluence, the abated morality of consumerism, the pomposity of corporate greed, the plethora of transgressive equality retained in yuppie culture, the “Come on feel the noise!”, the fashion and the extruded volatility of humanity, personified in this instance by Tommy “I’m not Henry Hill” Vercetti and “It’s going to take a lot to drag me away from you. There’s nothing that a 100 men or more could ever do”. *Sigh*
Damn, I’m sorry. But I’ve got to go and listen to some Jan Hammer now while I canter solemnly down a Miami beach, gazing longingly as the grains of sand yield to the waves rippling caress and the wind ruffles my distended mullet. All while I repeatedly remove my sunglasses from my rankled face, before placing them back while again staring longingly at…….absolutely nothing.
What game soundtracks are still stuck in your head?
On my twelfth Birthday, I could finally authenticate my legitimacy as a gamer with full ownership over a games console; the PS1. Up until that point I had merely appropriated my fathers neglected systems in order sate my gaming exigency, but they were never truly “mine”. The PS1 was a games console I had coveted from afar, a console of such seminal repute that I was consumed by its ashen rigidity and in such awe of it permissive accessibility, that the idea of claiming possession of it was a salacious vilification of my bigamy with Nintendo, a company that aside from Sega’s plaintive deterioration, was the single biggest luminance in my life. My mother, noting my persistent insistence on retaining the device, finally submitted to my whimpering appeals that hadn’t been this intense since I pleaded for the Power Rangers Megazord a few years prior. This relent was permitted under certain governing conditions though, you know those tenuous stipulations of youth. She insisted I keep my room tidy, as my mum would conduct routine inspections to make sure I was at least attempting to comply. Eat all vegetables that laced my dinners and that my homework schedule was adhered too. Of course the latter I would invariably forge by copying my friends report, though it was important not to replicate word for word. Teachers weren’t as stupid as I’d hoped. All difficult feats for a child of such meagre intelligence, but the PlayStation incentive was robust enough for me to abide by, at least for a provisional elapse of time.
I had up until my Birthday acquired a modest sum of financial subsidies from various family members, as well as conserving the residual revenue I had allocated at Christmas. I had arranged to meet a couple of school friends on the Saturday immediately following my Birthday to dine at the finest establishment we could afford (Mc Donald’s), and designate the applicable dispersal of my newly acquired affluence that would be most congenial for my first ever games console, that I owned. Me! I possessed a little over £50, which at that age was like being a millionaire. It felt as though I was someone of stature. Every time a door was held ajar for me I felt like an eminent dignitary whose renown preceded me, especially when I entered a games store. You’d hold the hollow cases with such delicate admiration that you were deluded into thinking it was some kind of ornate statue or gilded Fabergé egg. That may sound odd, but its kind of demotic expression that’s only really identifiable at that fragile moment of besotted adolescence. Or maybe I was just a strange, sheltered child? In either case, picking suitable titles to expand my blossoming collection from such a comprehensive catalogue displayed, was like presenting an array of cupcakes to a diabetic. But I repressed any deviating perusing’s by purchasing the 2 games I knew I wanted; 40 winks and GTA. The proprietor of this particular gaming store was not averse to my numerical encumbrance (I may have even been wearing novelty badge with the number 12 on it) or my incapacity to reach the counter. He just tallied up the expenses and waved me off.
Though I had previously endeavoured to acquire Resident Evil in concurrence with GTA, the latter of which was by no means the compulsory purchase it is today, I was forced to compromise to a far cheaper alternative that was actually rather good. I’ve gotta say that the PlayStation 1’s enduring notoriety was certified with aplomb that day. I bathed in the hue of vibrancy emitted, as well as the 3 dimensional imagery that was beyond resplendent. Which was made all the more lustrous by the validation that this was mine, vindicated further by years of virtual recompense. Needless to say that I relished every moment gaming with my mates. We played it all evening while devouring a copious array of salted snacks and pilfered Shandy that I had earlier pertained through less than chivalrous means. Before ruefully flaying a defenceless cushion. Yeah, we were off the freakin chain! This narrative was recollected from nothing but the vivid memories that are as clear now as they were then. Its like these events only transpired yesterday, which is surreal considering I can’t even remember what I did yesterday?! And I think that admission, one of such detailed clarity denotes just how prominent Sony’s fledgling system was, not just for me, but for the entire industry. How synonymous the brand and even the PlayStation name has become with computer games, ushered by a wider community indifferent to the medium. Whether your gaming is still informed by Sony’s only lucrative commodity or not is beside the point, because its influence, however considerable or subtle changed the way we play games. So I for one would like to celebrate, applaud and dance naked with a PS1 controller draped around my neck!
Happy 20th Birthday PlayStation!
What are your memories of the PlayStation 1? Let me hear your stories……..And by the way, if a representative of Sony would like to send me one of those gorgeous, beautifully decorated PS1 looking PS4’s, I would be very gracious in accepting such a gift. Just thought.
I once resided in a mythical province. Because I was a once a temporary resident of the 90’s. Where animal interpretations were confined to spherical containers, temporarily released from their compulsory incarceration to battle opposing, ecological creatures with a proclivity to hit themselves when confused and faint (Pokemon). A time when exalted heroes humiliated reputed bullies, donned binding onsies that made them more conspicuous than a 70’s pimp and utilised giant mechanised vehicles (Power Rangers) that were in no way related to Transformers, at all. Nope. When kids collected corrugated discs with variable depictions of popular culture and George R R Martins publications featured a protracted journey of dragon nepotism, and allowed him to establish himself as literatures most prolific serial killer. We also enjoyed games that were serviceable and worked without the interference from post release patches. We have become submissive to these annotations that are an obtrusive foil for gamers, jarring your immersion with its once inert intercession that cripple your extraneous time, and that’s before you’ve even had time to settle. “Update me now or I will corrupt your system. Mwahhahaha!” Though you can ignore the emergence of these candid insinuations, doing so will leave your already stricken game submissive to the litany of issues already affecting it. So instead you yield, begin regaling yourself with a literary distraction’s, flick through television channels or take a premeditated bowel movement.
Instead of gaming your granted a respite to, well, a respite? Suddenly the screen is interjected by a virtual dossier, replete with a recitation of terms and conditions that must be adhered to before verification can commence. A voluntary permission to simply shoot things suddenly becomes posturing fleets of whimsy. I have scarce leniency for such extraneous liaisons, I’m impatient too which stems from my specious resentment of monotonous advancement. Sure you have the added benefit of congressional stabilisation in multiplayer, the removal of apparatinal infringements and litany of obstinate glitches are rendered moot–but they shouldn’t be present in the first place? I realise I’ve recited this subjugated theme with exasperating exhaustion and I’m constantly referencing the systemic quality of games processed on cartridges; they’re more hardened, resilient, simple and efficient. Of cause both hardware and software have progressed far beyond the palliated effusions of their distant ancestors, but how come these ethereal placation’s mitigate one erroneous issue, but hasten a previously benign mandate? Patches are supposed to act as applicable band aids to enduring abrasions, so why is patch 1.12 causing characters heads to rotate like rotisserie swine? I guess its easy for people like me to chastise the respective overseers motivations through exerting monologues, pungently laced with conjecture. We can speculate that executives have a diminished capacity to deliver quality or resources are pressured by recouping the hefty expenses distributed to even render a tree with ecological authenticity. I understand that my complaints aren’t entirely substantial or even original, and really we as an anomalous community should be compliant to the eventual polish to the once rugged terrain, that comes with the aid of updates, so that jaunts can be surmounted without the certifiable infamy of past indiscretions…..
But its strange to think that during those adolescent years of gaming, I never once paused and contemplated with anxious cynicism; “When will this game go wrong?”
Have any patches caused more problems than what they were intentionally supposed to resolve?
My preliminary examination of Watch Dogs yielded less than favourable results, causing me to mumble opaque profanities and questionable conversations with friends at a wedding recently, much to the grievance of the Groom. Me: “Hope your ready for the informal agreement of marital celibacy and monogamy? Just kidding. How are you?” Groom: “Oh mate its been so stressful, after all this time, all the planning, it’s just so surreal.” Me: “I know, disappointing too.” Groom: “Yeah…what?!” Me: “Watch Dogs. Terrible isn’t it?!” Groom: “……What?!” So I diminished for a while after my spiteful retort to Watch Dogs belated inauguration, consumed large quantities of humble pie, wiped its bitter excretions from my mouth (sounds wrong but go with the analogy) and compiled a more poised evaluation. You see there is a trending propensity at the moment to denounce Watch Dogs, with the internet abound with expansive derision and I felt abashed to do the same. There’s a hesitancy about affirming my initial corroboration with Watch Dogs too, re-evaluating my complied deviation from its underwhelming entrance, with expectancy a fault collaboratively pertained by both developer’s and gamers. It’s a subversive influence that impedes our primal instincts that can usually detect the legitimacy of the product, so I’ll happily accept partial blame for its failings, though still vocalizing with a firm contention that expectancy should be met with credible reciprocation. But Watch Dogs is certainly a victim of its own inflated volition with accompanying coverage replete with all the charms of a dashing Lothario on dating site, displaying all the subliminal attributes that suggests a kindred spirit and sharing similar recreational affinities. Only to discover that it’s a middle-aged plumber with a receding hairline that looks as though his remaining follicles are afraid of his scalp. Scurrying in to the bar with a shovel, a bag of fertiliser and enquiring whether his rag smells of chloroform? In other words, not what you were expecting.
To suggest that Watch Dogs is underwhelming is like insinuating that Oberyn Martel probably has a bit of headache; its relatively good, but that’s its problem. Vehicular transportation feels antiquated, like a composite of differing attributes, sort of an arcade simulator that possesses all the pirouetting manoeuvrability of a bovine suffering from tuberculosis, while staring at a vast tapestry of bland textures that are almost monochromatic. But its the lead that is this games biggest encumbrance. Aiden Pearce is a criminal that hacks the bank accounts of duplicitous characters–which seemingly congregate rather conveniently in his immediate vicinity–stealing their accumulated funds through anonymous transactions. But that’s OK because he has a harassed sister deprived of a niece and a mute nephew that requires tender protection. These are hardly situations of earnest commendation, and it never extends to anything more than cajoling criminal elements without the moralistic sensibilities or self-awareness of his own felonious actions. How can I empathise with a melancholic criminal when his reasoning for vengeance is so muted? I would be happy to forgive a dodgy story if the character was even remotely endearing, but I’ve presented more expressions when using the toilet! His reputed anaesthetized personality is corroborated by the periodic sheathing of his sterile features that are masked by the woollen scarf that entwine’s his jaw, with only his desolate steely gaze piercing through his mantled anonymity. Its clear from the offset that he is intentionally stunted emotionally, that his life is plagued by the crippling visions of his past, but the content is so driven by this one horrific event–un-witnessed by ourselves other than tangled segments of implication–that it becomes a trivial catalyst. The visceral catharsis of such devastating heartache that could absolve or exonerate his nullified persona is diminished by the latent conveying of devastation.
There’s no identifiable empathy accredited to his benign demeanour, just the personification of that grumpy uncle you see every Christmas, drunk and slumped in a chair grasping the empty glass that moments earlier contained a matured bourbon, cursing his self-inflicted diabetes almost as much as he resents his betrothal to his wife of 20 years. His character feels motivated by a pale imitation of the events presented in the movie Taken. “I don’t have any (of my own) money, I don’t know who you are (without a computer), but I will find you (with said computer) and I will bore you.” And what the hell has been so traumatic that it sounds as though Pierce has deep-throated a rusty chainsaw?! I imagine this is what Clint Eastwood would sound like if he were suffering from an inflamed larynx while trying to imitate Batman! You know you have issues when the extraneous cast are more sympathetic than the fragmented paradigm of conflicted heroism. He’s supposed to be emotionally numb, I get that. He is deliberately incredulous to his cellular espionage and the consequences of his criminality to retain some redemption for his perished niece, fine, I get that too; but I just don’t care! It’s not an engaging tale of a man tortured by a personal affliction of guilt, his precipitous alienation from the people he loves or an allegory of bespoke symbolism; it’s a serviceable last generation game that feels adequate to stem visual/scripted/technical furtherance with fancy decorative trinkets and admittedly intriguing gimmicks such as hacking.
Like any opinion, this an advisory, very subjective sentiment bolstered by openly expressive resent for Watch Dogs frailties. But I implore you not to be as dismissive as I–and many others besides have been. That may sound like hypocrisy considering my condescending sardonic tone and proclivity for over analysing details that is ably excessive, details that would be considered negligible by most, but there is fun to be had despite how hard it seems to restrict that amusement. The breadth of inhabitance that populate the metropolis creates the illusion of a densely populated community, living singular lives and completely oblivious to your presence (as long as you don’t incinerate them). They don’t just feel like peripheral extras in a movie, waiting for directions which gives the fictionalised portrayal of Chicago vivacious credibility. This is an exemplary ruse that not even GTA have managed to achieve! It’s unfortunate then that Ubisoft didn’t promote a game based around a poorly textured city, arbitrary revenge story, turgid vehicular transportation and a largely forgettable protagonist with all the sympathetic merits of a homophobic racist that hates woman, puppies and chocolate cake. Because I may have been surmising something half decent. As it is though, it feels lacklustre, derivative and more disturbingly, dated.
What did you think of Watch Dogs? Have people been too quick to criticise it? Let me know your thoughts.
The Death-match was over, and like former war veterans returning to battle ground to reminisce at bygone trauma sustained, we each surveyed the collateral damage that had severely depleted our respective arsenals. Grenades had been consumed barely half way into the encounter due to the fragmented, spacial concealment, omitted to prevent regularly occurring fatalities with grenades providing sustained durability against the restrictive proclamation of combatants. My primary assault rifle had exhausted a quarter of its originating ammunition too, with my pump-action shotgun faring just as empathetically. Preliminary numeracy calculated that fiscal allocation required to amend the deficit would be around $3,000. Not bad considering the advantageous result permitted such a lavish reimbursement of around $15,000. I may have to purchase that shirt I wanted? But retaining your acquired fortune represents temporary, but aggressive, invasive rectification from the losing side. Preliminary surveillance of the sometimes reclusive district, in this instance localised around a swamp with no immediate cover or accessible vehicles to enact an instinctive abdication from imminent danger. A partial glance at my spawning, potential antagonists and cursory assessment of my environment proved fortuitous as the nominal players (2) localised in close proximity to me were largely too distant to cause immediate concern. Mitigating the immediacy of your death is crucial, though largely fallible as the action of pacifying your opponents in menu select–unless instigated before a confrontation–can’t be immediately activated post game. So your temporarily left exposed to the dictating subsidiaries separated from a larger crew that could invariably leave you in a death paradox–constantly spawning and being killed before you can even select an appropriate weapon to retaliate. So I ran!
The nearest available refuge lies imminently adjacent from me, a highway bridge partially obscured by some benign foliage that is little more than aesthetic nuisance rather than encumbering obstacle. As I begin to run, evasively weaving sporadically from left to right, rolling and jumping meekly to confuse any potential perusers, I’m duly focused on the securing prolonged sanctity and thus absent in the trajectory of another recluse cautiously seeking the same facilitation. It isn’t until I arrive at our mutual destination that we clarify each others intentions the only way you can in GTA; pointing guns at each other. It may seem derisive to insinuate that gamers intent is not always one of amicable courtesy and that indulging in games that permit discerning duplicitous individuals is hardly an affable commodity. But for me trust is an indelible fortitude. I coordinate with robust cynicism, sceptical of any affiliation that isn’t mutually beneficial and mistrustful of the humility of others. You become dejected by the recurring redolence of competitors goading barbs and the displaced loyalties, particularly the individuals that seldom deigned to occupy similar precise acumen, but instead rifle you as you ponderously walk away to other engagements, and then chastised you for your inferiority as they accelerate away in their modified Bugatti (Or Adder in GTA)! So I have every right to affirm the intentions of my dubious contemporaries. After considerable time, our respecting artillery were lowered and gestures of mutual civility were exchanged after any threats had been suitably neutralised and tranquillity amended. With limited access to any adequate vehicles other than a commandeered van with the approximate acceleration of congested snot, and my car–currently frequenting an insurance company (don’t ask), my new affiliation kindly offered to escort me away from the desolation of the current habitation, to which I anxiously complied.
Things began promisingly enough. He appeared amiable enough, complicit in my navigations to retrieve my personal vehicle, humble in regarding his superior level by suggesting hours of diligence were required rather than owing his numerical ascension to skill. We discussed appropriate procedures that would be requisite to succeed in our preferred objectives, beguiled one another with mutual tales of gallantry and our valiant reprisals. Discussions continued through competitive matches, collaborating tactics in unison by correlating the salient cogency before actions were regimental clarified and applied. Conversions were both earnest and sometimes reticent, implemented with concerted parity and tending to our respective duties with amiable diligence. But there was something amiss? That his exuberant traits that excused his subverted eccentricity, that suggested infamy.Perhaps it was the sloping brow, the disconcerting features, the implicit continuation of cheesy radio stations or his willingness to publicly display his body with only his Trevor style underpants to conceal his delicate’s. Or perhaps it was during an intermission from our mission, we decided to gallivant on the beach close to the pier. Arriving in our respective vehicles we began to distribute mediated anarchy, you know minor misdemeanour’s such as driving erratically, shooting the ocean (take that water!). We frolicked and laughed, skipping merrily across the expansive beach, before the partial nudist chased down a terrified civilian, hit her with such force that she died, stooped over her lifeless body and making lurid, necrophiliac gestures. Then subsequently shoots ME, stealing MY car, briefly absconding with MY car before mowing me down and plunging MY car into the crests of the oceans embrace and fleeing to another game.
Yeah, come to think of it, that could why I shouldn’t have trusted him.
Have you wrongly trusted someone you shouldn’t have Online? Let me hear your experiences. Cheers.