In 1987, a little fleshy porpoise-like creature popped out of my mom, and started it's first steps towards the most frustrating moments in it's life. There were minor hiccups along the way, but they were quickly fixed with stitches and/or recreational drugs. But no, those weren't the worst obstacles to be faced. The most pitiful, tantrum inducing stretches of time have occured while I(the porpoise) was playing a PS2 video game called Forbidden Siren.

The game is called Forbidden Siren because it makes you want to tear out your eyeballs. I'm not sure if this was an intentional move by the designers, but you'd think they would've made some adjustments after seeing rows of self-mutilating beta testers. Regardless, they finished the game, and released it. In the end, they had succeeded in making a game which was leagues scarier than Silent Hill, and more in depth than a colonoscopy.

But How?

Let's jump to the chase, the game is set in rural, backcountry Japan. All the inhabitants are stiff, psychotic, morbid, and extremely belligerent. They all look very pale, and many of them are bleeding from their eyes, which is coincidental with how I look after plaing the game for more than 3 minutes. Your job, as the player, is to use any strategy possible to move a dismally weak character around the game world without being mangled and castrated by any one of these hostile villagers. Oh, by the way, the villagers are called "Shibito", which roughly translates to "Assholes". These "assholes" are constantly waiting around every corner to kill you, and they usually do. Sometimes, the game is so terrifying and tense that my hands begin to shake in such a violent fashion that I couldn't press the start button to pause the madness even if I wanted to.

Sounds like a great game, right! Yes, it is. It's really inventive and has a bunch of kickass features in it, unfortunately, it's difficulty curve is almost as erratic as my desire to live while playing the game. This game is more frustrating than any I've ever played. But somewhere, deep inside one of my cockles, I have an unerring sense of duty to see this thing through to the end, even if it requires a celibate oath and moving into a Soho basement, subsisting off rancid noodles and assorted floor scums.