I believe that rock and roll lives in all things. Thusly, the title of this game is accurate. Whether or not it is apt is yet to be seen.
When, after stuffing too many bags of coke up my anus, I see, out of the corner of my eye, a startling looking lady with teeth perhaps the size of shot glasses and breasts the size of really big breasts, I feel that I have become one with the gods of rock and roll. And after every stage dive I do, and every concert hall I tear apart with my blazing awesome shit, I know that, somewhere, there is a baby being born who is loving all that shit. And the baby might be mine. I love women, but contraception turns me off. It’s not that it’s not rock and roll, I just can’t stand the idea of anything in between me and the one groupie who didn’t pass out at the after party. So, maybe what I’m trying to say is, if God exists, he’s probably my kid. Cause I’m everyone’s father. I’m rock and roll incarnate.
When I get in my crazy car from the future and sail away into the dream of nothingness that is the average American lifestyle, I sinfully imagine that my dreamgirl, Paprika, is there with me. And when I’m racing around corners like I’m all high and shit, I think of the people manning the drones on my home planet, and I think of the people getting shot by those drones, and I probably don’t give a shit.
So, when I say that I give my stamp of approval to a game with a title like ROCK N ROLL RACING, it means so much more than love. It means more than sex. It means more than Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, and all those other religions combined. It means that this game is truly rock and roll.
So, when you’re at home with your family and with your money and with your sip-of-wine at dinner, think of how awesome this game is, and just be like “Okay!” Cuz, man, things don’t get much better than listening to Highway Star pumping through in 16-bit Stereo and racing around a track suspended above lava, with some kind of laser gun on your truck. That’s messed up.
EVERY GAME... EVER 