Out to Lunch

OK CHEF YES CHEF YOU'RE RIGHT CHEF HIT ME CHEF

Let’s be clear: this game promotes a very unhealthy lifestyle and ignores the basic tenets of hygiene. Chief among those tenets is the idea that you should not eat cake that you find on the ground, even if it was in the fridge at one point. “Eat not the floor cake, lest a great mistake you make,” as the rhyme I just made up goes. I know cake is delicious, and sometimes the temptation is nearly overwhelming, but again: don’t eat cake that’s on the floor. Okay, now let’s talk about this game. Anyone who says anything about cake and falsehood gets punched in the face.

In Out to Lunch you play the role of a tiny chef who clearly lacks discipline! How can a chef worth his salt* allow his food run out of the refrigerator and wreak havoc across the countryside? Gordon Ramsay would spit vitriol at this tiny chef until I inevitably got bored of his froth and changed the channel. I’ve never watched Gordon Ramsay for more than five minutes at a stretch, even though I’m a big fan of inexplicably angry assholes. “Please sir, come into my place of employment and tell me how worthless I am and swear and me and oh god uhhhhnnn”—it’s food porn meets regular dom porn as far as I’m concerned. Hell’s Kitchen, not Out to Lunch. SNES games have a very obvious derth of sadomasochism outside of the Ninja Gaiden series, one area in which the Sega Genesis was undisputed king, with entries like “Hit Me In My Worthless Face, Master” and “Grind My Balls.” Good games.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Out to Lunch, as usual! Heyyy! Anyway, this game is another straightforward yet pleasant platformer that you can pick up and play until you’re bored. You could do better probably, but you could also do a lot worse, so don’t worry about it! Just run around and catch some cheese in a net. Jump up and to the side. Repeat! Once you’ve collected enough bits of food, you toss them into a giant pile which you then shape into a grotesque woman made of meat and cheese and then the horror truly begins. In many ways, Out to Lunch was the proto-Silent Hill. A feast of terror and perversion. I can still hear the squishing noises.

Speaking of madness, look at how many of these games we’ve reviewed! Check out that sidebar—isn’t that crazy? Pretty soon you’ll be able to click on the name of any SNES game and get a basic idea of what it’s called and then maybe one accurate thing about it.

We’re living in the goddamn future right now. When I was a kid I would have killed for something like this, instead of for no reason at all. But that’s progress for you: always giving you a new reason to murder. Life sure is funny and brief sometimes!

* His salt escaped too!!!

Out of This World

All we know is, he's call "The Stig"...

After writing random drunken musings for this blog for the past several months, I’ve found myself in the obvious realization that the Super Nintendo is, to put it scientifically, chock full of bullshit titles meant primarily to cash in on some random intellectual property that, I could only hope, no child could give two shits about.

Or, for perhaps those developers on a smaller budget, some new, arguably original idea that, in a similar manner as before, no child could give two shits about.

Then I find myself playing Out of This World.

For this article, I call upon Mr. Peabody to take the WABAC Machine all the way to the far-flung year of 1991, in northern New Jersey, where one could find a bright-eyed young ten-year-old child, dragged along with his mother to a Sam’s Wholesale Club for god-knows-what. This is where, somewhat disappointingly, the video game shopping usually took place, seconded by a random Babbage’s off somewhere in between home and town from which some obscure, bullshit, EGA shareware title on a 5¼” floppy disk may have been purchased for a birthday or other such inconsequential occasion. Either way, the usual protocol for this lad in such situations typically involved playing some random demo game (usually Lemmings or some sequel thereof) for 5 or 10 minutes, changing the BIOS password on all the demo PC’s to “boobs”, and digging through the bargain bin for something that resembled a remotely entertaining DOS game.

This day, though, in an odd stroke of luck, this child struck solid gold.

Out of This World, a title put out just earlier that year, was found in this child’s hands. On the box was a beautiful, clay-sculpted scene of a red-haired man standing, with arms outstretched, in front of a desolate alien landscape. Behind him stood a square-headed, humanoid being reaching for a rock, possibly for use as a weapon.

From this scene, the child’s imagination ran wild. What was going on here? How did this man get here? Was this alien creature an enemy, or a friend? What structure loomed in the distance? What happened earlier to get us here, and what would happen next?

(Seriously, most people didn’t have unobstructed internet access to random game reviews back then, so someone could have easily shit in a box and pasted some pretty pictures on it, and it could have sold thousands upon thousands at retail outlets.)

He showed the box to his mother, skeptical of whether this was worth the investment or whether someone had just taken a poo in the box and pasted some artwork on it. It had been a year or so since purchasing SimCity (which, surprisingly, was mostly free of human feces), so she decided, “Hell with it, at least he’s not addicted to meth!”

But this game may be far worse…

Imagine for a second, a beautiful young woman (or man, whatever your bag may be). You go out for a while, and they seem cool, but then, almost out of the blue, they start beating the living crap out of you on a daily basis. You might think, “Bullishit, this cat’s a waste of my time!” But ho! You keep on going back, you dumb bitch! The endless abuse, the horrible fights, but why?

Why!? Because you’re in love, that’s why! You put up with the disrespect and incessant punches in the tits, because you know that deep in there, within the crunchy, hateful peanut coating, you’ll come across the soft, lovable, chewy nougat center.

And by “nougat”, I mean “inventive puzzles and shit”.

Wait, I’m sorry…I failed to come across as sober here.

What I mean is that Out of This World is a beautiful, brilliant game. Rarely can one find such cinematic mastery in one package, but it’s not a game for everyone, by any means. It can be tough as nails at times. Rusty, tetanus-infected nails, I mean. Seriously, clean up that infection, take those shots, and sit the fuck down for a while and get used to this game if you’re willing. It takes a while, but in the end, when your broken body finally makes its way to the finish, you’ll be proud of your accomplishments.

I’d recommend against the Super Nintendo version, though. Pretty much everything is there, but the SNES just can’t seem to handle the beets and radishes that this game demands. I mean, the system’s built for bitmap sprites, but this game is trying to squeeze vector graphics at every turn! The poor kid can’t keep up half the time! As a result, controls on the SNES can be about as sluggish as a sleep-deprived turtle on promethazine. Seriously, play the game on an old 386 (or perhaps any halfway decent Windows box with the recent re-release) if you can, otherwise…umm…

…err…the SNES version is alright, too, I guess.

Damn good game anyway.

Operation Thunderbolt

Bully for me, the westerly-inclined Muslim man who serves no purpose but to allow the game developers to escape allegations of racism.  Bully for me; I did it. No one could possibly take offence now! Look here: the game ALLOWS you to play as a man named Chamquar, a very stereotypically Middle-Eastern sort of gent with a turban and everything. Like Obi-Wan, he is the only hope for American life, liberty, and manly sex-moves (see Mark Davis is the Fisting Master). Good show! Oh, does the game involve mass murder? Is the game based on a real life hostage situation? This might offend someone!

S’cool! Put a white turban on Chamquar! Paint the terrorists purple (the international colour of terrorism)! Make them throw chocolate bars that replenish your health! Do, like, a Wolfenstien head thing than goes “eww” when it gets shot! Constantly remind people that this is a videogame and that we’re not trying to make any statements about anything remotely close to the real world!

Done that?

Good.

Now reward the players by implying that they get to have sex with a mysterious Middle-Eastern woman when they beat a mission. Make her look really seductive and enchanting.

How could anyone think this game is racist?

O, 1988. You wash into obscurity.

Operation Logic Bomb

What year is it? WHAT YEAR IS IT? 2010? What? Where are the robots and flying cars? Okay, so I was just in some kind of crazy 1993 where there were extradimensional robot crabs and tonnes of bullets and holy shit. Okay yeah. I’ll have a Tab. Is that what you guys drink now? Rad. Do you still say rad?

Guys you are not going to believe me

Anyway I was just in 1993 and everything was run by robot crabs and they commanded legions of cyborg guys and security systems. I was in this lab and every time I went anywhere things would like, fold, and smell like brie and then there would be robots and I’d have to waste them all and then more would come. And these doors would open and I’d have to waste even more of them at it was like the crabs knew I was coming or some shit, I don’t even know.

There was a flaming castle and crabs and robot guys

There were all these computer surveillance videos of scientists messing around with teleporters and then BAM, crustacean hell on earth. I don’t even know what to do. Look, I know you don’t believe me, look though. There, that’s my birth certificate, 1968. There is no way I’m 40 right now. Look at me! I’m telling you the truth, look I’ve got these pictures. I DON’T CARE IF THE WHITE BALANCE IS OFF, LISTEN TO ME.

I fought my way through this and every time I thought it was done for a computer terminal would do some kind of crazy future surgery and get me back up again. I have a theory: I think they just put me through this crazy robot maze to send me a message. I don’t think these crabs want to scour the world, sucking up every last resource to rebuild their exoskeletons with bioengineered flesh and steel. I think they’re miserable. So look, I’m gonna change the course of history. Or maybe I already did. Maybe this means you listened to me.

Here’s the message from Commander Cobain of the Earth First resistance group. He wrote it down. You gotta remember.

I was totally reaching for my camera when I saw the crab guy coming out but then holy shit I had to start shooting him.

DO NOT FISH IN ALASKA.

Operation Europe

If this screenshot makes you want to play this game, you probably really look forward to doing your monthly budget, and you probably highlighted your notes in high school with differently-coloured markers.

Do you remember instruction booklets?

Operation Europe’s interface is so bad that it took me about five tries to actually get to the part where I play the game. It’s one of those games where the insipid instructions on how to start a new game and load a saved game would actually be useful. There are no labels, headings, or extra pieces of information; it’s an utter failure as an independent interface.

But remember, it wasn’t independent at the time.  Instruction booklets were how you learned to play the game.  Almost no game actually contained an in-game tutorial. The instruction booklet, for an apparently complex, obtuse game like this, was an essential part of the game itself.

I think that the movement towards in-game tutorials is a good one.  It makes games into self-contained experiences, not requiring an external key to decipher them.  This game makes absolutely no sense without an instruction booklet, although I doubt that the instructions would be particularly illuminating.  And instructions are made of paper – they tend to get lost, torn, borrowed, stolen, wet, whatever.  We don’t take care of them like we take care of the games themselves.  Without them, some games are almost unplayable, like this one.  Everything is an abbreviation with a full word, a signifier without a signified, a reference without a referent.  It’s gibberish.

Many games can get away without instructions or tutorials – games that build upon an existing cultural structure of gamer knowledge, instincts drilled into us since Mario, like “the face button under the joint of your thumb is the jump button, and the face button under the tip of your thumb is the attack button.” Even just an options screen with the controls is often very helpful, or loading screens with instructions or button layouts.

The best method, I think, is to instruct you how to play without the artificial contrivances of tutorials, without the necessity of looking up what buttons do what; some games can ease you into the flow of play and allow you to discover it for yourself.  Unfortunately this isn’t always possible, especially with complex strategy games.  Often it will result in a jarring message like “Alright, we’re going to do some practice, Agent.  Press X to jump.” This from the mouth of a character who, previously, was doing his best to pretend he was a real person.

Some games, though, will remain cloaked in obscurity, behind the locked gates of their interface, and this is one of them.

Olympic Summer Games ‘96

No Olympics on Stolen Confederate Land!

Videogames based on the Olympics are awful.  Everyone knows this.  This is because, other than Mario Party, very few games have succeeded on the principle that a bunch of people will sit in a room furiously circle jerking their controllers in their laps, red faced, to be called the winner.  And the only reason people accept it with Mario Party is because that skill is meaningless in the long run.  Someone will get some last minute random-chance thing that fucks everyone anyway.  Maybe if that really happened in the Olympics, then we’d have a real blockbuster on our hands.

You know what I hate? When people still make the joke "Run, Forest, Run"... I mean, that movie came out when, like, 1996 or something? So for over a decade people still make a joke about some retard running when they see other people run because it's fun to point out what people are doing to your friends and also make pop culture references? Anyway, if you've ever said "Run, Forest, Run" about anything, I want you to go get a tub of bryllcream and fuck yourself with your whole fist.

Just imagine it… people train their whole lives and win their medals, excelling over their competition legitmately and sometimes brutally.  Then, during the closing ceremonies everyone stands in Olympic Stadium or whatever with their medals and this omnipotent being just starts moving people’s medals around randomly.  Maybe one guy found a pretty stone at the side of the field while he was doing the fucking javelin or something and that means he can take the medals from someone else.  Man.  I’d watch that.  Imagine the tears, vitriol, and international incidents.  I’m so glad Nintendo aren’t the government.

Ceremonial Olympic Scalp Massage.

So anyway, pressing A,B,A,B,A,B isn’t a lot of fun.  And also how much fun is it to watch people run if they’re not about to be gored by dangerous and vindictive animals?  Not very.  In conclusion, I’d watch the Summer Olympics if they were more like this (but not otherwise):

Ogre Battle

Ogre Battle! Not pictured: ogres or battle.

Hey, let’s play Ogre Battle! I can’t wait to step out on that battlefield and watch monstrous armies of ogres and other miscellaneous magical creatures clash into each other in a wave of steel and dea—oh? I have to answer some questions here. Let’s see…

Huh!

Am I about to command armies, or am I getting ready to sign up to a dating website? Ogre Battle asks you a lot of questions about how you would behave in certain situations and what sort of things you prefer. Tell me, says Ogre Battle, what’s your favourite brand of green tea beverage? Who’s your favourite sporting team announcing fellow? If you were a movie, which movie would you be, and why didn’t you say E.T.?

Here’s an actual question from the game:
You are staring at the full moon the night before a battle. What are you thinking of?

I’m thinking that I’d like to play a game that simulates a battle, please. Maybe even with ogres. Not every battle has to have ogres, but if some of them did, that would help me remember that I’m playing Ogre Battle and not “20 Questions Without Ogres.” Or maybe I’m just thinking about that moon. Maybe I’m realizing this battle isn’t worth the emotional trauma and regular trauma that it entails and that our place in this universe is so tenuous and miraculous and we’re wasting it by fighting these battles over sand and glass and wind as the moon watches, unfazed. Maybe I’m thinking that tomorrow night I’m coming after that moon! You hear me, moon? You’re next, you gibbous motherfucker!

All these questions serve a purpose: they determine what kind of commander you’re going to be. Do people generally select military leadership based on a quiz and the results of Tarot card readings? “Huh, looks like you drew the ‘Coin of Losing Military Engagements’ card. Well, it could mean that your opponents will all lose against you. Yeah. Yeah, let’s go with that. You’re hired!”

Between answering questions about what to get someone’s grandson for their birthday and wandering around slowly taking Tarot cards from nearby towns, I didn’t really get much ogre battling done in this game. I’m sure if you sink enough time into it some other stuff happens, but I’ll never know what it is since I decided to find a quicker way to battle ogres: walking up and down the street yelling about how professional wrestling is fake.

See you in February!

Hello, fair readers,

You may have noticed that Every Game Ever is on a bit of a break at the moment– but, make no mistake, we are hard at work ensuring that the various holes left in our backlog are completed. As such, you will not see any new posts on the front page for a little while, but rest assured the sweat lodges are still rife with hallucinogenic smoke and the sweat shops are still replete with underage, underpaid child writers delivering the best* in SNES-related entertainment. In short, don’t panic. We got you covered, friend.

Your loving overlord,
Brilliam

*not actually better than, say, playing them, or, in some cases, reading almost anything else on the matter! But you don’t care about this self-depreciating drivel, since you are a faithful reader, which means the site is just to your taste, and, as such, carry on!

Obitus

I don't know what an Obitus is or what it does. I'm not sure the game does either.

I think Obitus is a game.  There’s controls and graphics.  I can’t really tell.  It’s sort of like a MUD/text adventure/whatever.  But less text.  Stuff is on the ground and you pick it up.  Sometimes doors open or a man punches you in the back of the head.  There’s forest.  There’s a tower.

Oh, ok.

I didn’t really get further than the forest.  I tried to navigate it a bunch of times but I kept ending back up at the tower.  So… that’s awesome.  Maybe the Obtius is the tower, and also a metaphor for Groundhog Day… and maybe that guy who punches me in the back of the head when I leave the tower is Bill Murray?  Or Andy MacDowell?  There was long hair.  Who knows?

There's some woods.

Yeop.

Nosferatu

I thought I would get to play a horrifying vampire beast in this game and eat people. IMAGINE MY DISAPPOINTMENT when I realized I had to play some 90s kid in a dank old castle. IMAGINE IT!

However, I am no nancy. I present to you: the internal monologue of the character for the entirety of the time I spent playing this game.

“Hey… huh. I am in a castle. My girlfriend is probably missing or something. I sohuld find her. Oh shit! Some dudes! How do I punch… there it is! Holy shit! I am really good at punching demons!

“A door! I am going to go in this! What the fuck? It closed behind me! The only way out that that little hole there… if only I could figure out a way to slide under it… how do I slide? How do I lay prone and belly crawl? I mean, I can imagine myself doing it, but I can’t seem to do much more than run at it, full speed, and crash into the wall and fall down!”

–200 SECONDS LATER–

“GAME OVER?! Well, at least I was probably right about my girlfriend! There’s an old photograph of a couple! In black and white!

“Okay, let’s try a different door this time… ugh! A centipede! Oh awesome. I stepped on it and now it’s dead! I didn’t evne have to punch it! Which I could easily do, by the way! Or slide at it, which I CANNOT DO!

“Sweet, an hourglass! This will presumably give me more than 200 seconds to find my ladypal! Oh no, there’s only one door left…

“WHY DON’T I KNOW HOW TO LAY DOWN?”

–240 SECONDS LATER–

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”