Bassin’s Black Bass


Never has there been a video game more accurate to the human condition: you are named, and from naming, your existence is birthed (my character was named “Sad Old-Bastard”). You go from tournament to tournament, attempting to struggle to a respectable place in a competition whose relevance is… yeah, comparable to that of a bass fishing competition on a SNES game; you float around in a boat as a timer slowly ticks down the minutes to your miserable, lonely end to your miserable, wasted existence; bland boating moments are only interrupted by blander fishing moments, where the filthy, washed-out green-blue of the water is all you can survey from your stupid boat with your stupid rod and you stupid fishing hat.


I have looked Death in the maw today. I am now at peace with all. I am also hungry for braised fucking salmon. Go figure.

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