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The Mechanics of a Robotic Apocalypse.

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Blasphemous Gaming - My Scarlet Letter.


Stumbling along the dirty, makeshift road, I didn't take the time to adore the rose bushes interspersed throughout the shrubbery, jutting out violently, juxtaposing their pleasant demeanor. My hands were shackled discourteously, and my head throbbed with ferocious curiosity. Why am I here? What crime have I committed?

Upon reaching our destination, I was dropped ungraciously onto the dirt. I heard footsteps and looked up at my judge, the man who would decide my fate in this questionably holy church. Reverend Anthony spoke.

"Sheir. Are you aware of the crimes you've committed?"

I stammered. "N-no, sir. I have no idea, not even a sembl--"

"Silence!" Roared Reverend Anthony. "Is it not true that you gave up on Ico after only 20 minutes of gameplay?"

"What?" I responded, dread slowly closing in on me.

"Is it indeed true that you found the art direction 'bland'? The gameplay 'uninspired', the AI unforgivably 'silly'?" He looked down at me with contempt. His eyes showed no mercy. It may have been Friday, but alas, there was little fakery afoot. I bowed my head in compliance.

"Ico sucked," I spat. Those around me gasped, but Reverend Anthony kept his confident physiognomy. I looked away. "I found it in a bargain bin for nine dollars. Nine dollars! I thought, how could I go wrong? This game is so critically acclaimed, everyone loved it so much. This was surely golden. Surely.

"I waited for the screen to brighten, before investigating the brightness settings on my television. The game was so lifeless." The faces around me went white with shock. "BLASPHEMY!" They cried.



I cringed. "But I digressed. I sat through the cinema, but I could only last so long. I decided to skip it--something I do not often do--and dive straight into the gameplay, frantically searching for a reason to keep playing."


"Reverend, surely you can empathize with me. It is a thing of utter banality, with the most simple of Zelda mechanics and a mentally-challenged girl following you around."

The Reverend sighed at me. "There is hardly anything I can do for you, Sheir. You will be branded with a scarlet letter 'N', for 'noob'. You will wear this letter at all times, and live in a cottage outside of the village for the rest of your days.

"Furthermore, whenever someone feels it is necessary, they are allowed to beat you with a stick."

His eyes lingered on me only a moment longer, before he said his final words: "Let God have mercy on your soul."

And so here I am, a red "N" fastened onto my chest, my resolve weak. In this edition of Blasphemous Gaming, I ask once more for the Destructoid community's participation.

Quite simply, what is your video gaming scarlet letter? Hit it up in the comments, or write a C-Blog post and link it.
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About Sheirone of us since 10:16 PM on 10.01.2006

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