Congratulations, You Have Found A Woman!

Last month female games writer Emma Boyes praised Saints Row: The Third for its liberal take on gender roles, sparking 16-pages of Internet retaliation when somebody found out a girl was tricking them into reading 9 paragraphs of feminism that wasn’t book-ended with a cheeky under-tit. Brave IGN users stood together in a moment of solidarity in case Boyes started swinging tampons around fast enough to trigger Naomi Kyle’s sleeper agent alarm, after inconveniencing them with the thought of a world where women ask to wear trousers in a game.

As a woman myself I am a gentle vessel of emotion. So attuned am I to the spiritual angst of mankind that every complaint on an IGN board cuts me like thousand sharpened pencils, so when I sense the cosmic howl of Internet men hit my deeper chakra I have to drop my groceries and purge in front of a picture of Ollie Murs I’ve grafted to my wall. That’s why I’ve come up with this easy-to-use guide to save IGN users from ever being accosted by articles inspired by the living memory of Alanis Morrisette songs again. Finally, men can feel safe knowing that they will be able to identify potential girls on the Internet without having to offend their senses by accidentally reading some sort of Womens Studies polemics ever again.


Dinner with Kudo

Kinect’s creative director takes you on a one-on-one night-out in his living room…

Hey queers and button-pressing fans, Internet famous Kudo Tsunoda here.

You know, people are always asking me, “Kudo, how did you go from making Fight Night: Round 3 to being creative director of Kinect?” and I tell them “Cliffy,” because I’m usually talking to my friend Cliff Bleszinski, “It’s because I’m qualified.” We have a good laugh, but you’d really have to be there if you know what I mean. I’m creative director of Kinect because I can kick your ass. I have a six foot vertical leap.

KRANG! You hear that? That’s the gong of change I’m ringing. KRANG.

One day you will be able to open up a browser window by rotating your pelvis at exactly 8 cycles per second. Get off your ass, asshole, I’m coming for you. The future is coming for you and I love the future. Sometimes I love it so much I get a hard on and pass out. Sometimes I’ll wait outside a Safeway for hours until a girl comes out just so I can show her Kinect in my living room, to expand her mind. That’s why I love the future.

Hey weaksauce, I also have sex all the time with girls. I’ve done it over 60 times, easy. I’ve got a girlfriend. Her name’s Biancla. Bam. She’s an amateur boxer at Kato’s Punch N Chew so I invited her to star in photos with me while I promoted Fight Night: Round 3. I found her next to a DDR Machine in 1998 and I’ve only seen one girl better looking than her and that was on a forum. Her face reminded me of the time I beat Cliff Bleszinski’s high-score on Def Jam: Icon, which was also beautiful.

Biancla comes to my house on Mondays to spot me while I do rude push-ups. Working out is important for three things: the ladies, lifting things, and video games. Any sexual dynamo will tell you this. Biancla and I practice all three by making love while I play Street Fighter IV. I’ve got my Vega impression down and Biancla’s been studying Chun-Li to train in some moves. She wanted to be Balrog but Kudo’s not down for that, girl. Afterward I take her out to Applebee’s, my treat. Kudo’s got a lifetime coupon to Applebee’s, buy three frozen margheritas and the chicken fingers comes free. She barely speaks a word of English, which gets embarrassing when she keeps trying to order a passport from the bar.

Together we’re going to rule the future like Tina Turner in Thunderdome. And from the future I’m going to come to your door and punch your controllers until their buttons spill out and you won’t be able to stop me because your thighs have atrophied and melted to your couch from pressing buttons all day, then I’m going to distend my gullet and eat every keyboard in your house. Hey what’s that sound? Wrong answer, shitlegs, it’s my meaty quad in your face.

Human Avatar

The guy with the concerned look in his eyes is Josh, a 25-year-old free runner from South London who’s at the unintentionally hilarious centre of APB’s viral marketing campaign. Josh is the winner of a competition to take a normal human man and make him over with an APB style by reeling in the public and asking them to vote on his next gruellingly hideous body transformation. The campaign is about six episodes long and is pretty much as much a soliloquy to APB’s character creator as it is to random Internet polls.

Internet polls are a vital part of every healthy website. Without blind, anonymous voting systems we would have no place to gather in large, inebriated masses and violently express our emotions on webforms while in our pants. Typically these voting systems get overtaken by overzealous types which is why in any poll that pits Star Wars to Star Trek, SW usually leads by about 900:12. So naturally when Josh starts his transformation he looks like a gap-year Nathan Barley and when the voting ends he’s the human equivalent of a refrigerator magnet montage of random words. By episode six they’ve tattooed him with shoulder-wide baby angel wings, drilled a ring through his nose and dressed him up as some sort of member of Prodigy.

The aim of the Human Avatar project is to “blur the lines between real and virtual worlds with a real-time experiment in identity and transformation”, which seems to largely involve making Josh look like an unemployed that sucks down residue from the bottom of a rusty barrel. The clothes say “punk” but the look says “I sell my blood at the Red Cross in exchange for malt liquor.”

Viewers had been faced with hard-hitting poll questions ranging from ‘Nose ring or earring?’ to “clown suit?” and each video is tinged with Josh looking about as comfortable throwing a Molotov cocktail in APBville as a teddy boy in a Harlem riot. They hand him a gun in the finale but after half a dozen of these videos Josh has proved himself to be a lovely sort. Josh wouldn’t carry a gun, he’d be the kind of guy that would show up to a hundred-man march and just kick a door a couple of times to scuff it up, then throw some grapes at a wall.  Then maybe he’d work his way up to real brutality like spray painting a picture of a dog on the side of a video store and forgetting to pay his car insurance.

But I like Human Avatar, and here’s why. I like it because it’s the antidote, the cold bucket of water to all of APB’s extensive cock-measuring and pissing contests. I like it because for all the posturing involved in APB, the Mean Motherfucker self-image crumbles like a schoolgirl who dropped a pudding when it’s confronted with its own reflection.

Human Avatar unintentionally offers the kind of warts-and-all truth you don’t see too often on the Internet. It doesn’t lure you into a false sense of Tough Guy cool like APB. It does the opposite. Josh is the man behind the mask, the human half of the Internet chode. He is the evidence that underneath the hard shell of griefers is the soft human punch-line, the guy with a face that says: I’m not in a gang, I front an ironic rap band. I spin tracks with my cousin down in an industrial mill on Thursdays. He’s the kind of doltish, simple guy who sees Johnny Knoxville as the Mark Twain of our generation and and bases his tribal tattoos on Indian shit he saw scrawled on a bus shelter. The exact opposite of what fuels APB, essentially.

Derren Brown Fucking Things

I need money and The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation is offering it.  The CBC writing contest has prizes that range between four and six thousand dollars for works of poetry, creative nonfiction and short fiction. It’s probably a problem that I’ve never properly written fiction before, but they didn’t seem specify what kind of fiction they were looking for. I even bothered to check out the previous winners section, but they seemed to mostly be poignant stories about people overcoming obstacles so I just wrote a couple of short stories about magician Derren Brown fucking things instead.


Derren Brown is hurtling through the prism of space. He’s dipping his palms into the rings of Saturn like they’re skimming through a placid temple pool and he’s got his cock out. Derren Brown is naked in space and releasing his spores into the universe like a dandelion. He’s spawned 13 generations of flies on the moon of Titan by wanking into a jar and leaving it over night.

Every earthling full moon he spreads his arms and soars into the clear pink skies of Saturn’s icy moon to mate with the fly queen of that generation. It’s a delicate process, he says, but he’s a gentle lover. And they fahcking love it, he says. Derren Brown doesn’t discriminate between the sexes not out of lust but largely because he can’t tell either way.

Derren Brown dips his cock in the highest quality of American cheese whiz and spreads eagle on Titan’s white frost meadows, enticing them with his sugar-peach skin.  They fahcking love cheese, he says.  He flies through space at 180 miles/hour with his arms outstretched , shrieking into the midnight black Nyeeeerrooommm ehn ehn ehn ehn ehn fighter jet noises. It’s how he fucks too. His lungs inhale the vacuum black of Space and convert it into the purest mountain air and then he is the loudest thing in the universe.

Derren Brown does this all from his living room. He orders KFC and fills his mouth with chicken tenders until he loses consciousness. Derren Brown astral projects himself into the beating heart of the universe with hot chicken and a smoke bath of chowder. Then he shoots into the sky honey golden and naked. Derren Brown puts his cock on your face while you’re sleeping.


Derren Brown left Croydon for the Hinterlands to meet a vampire. Derren Brown is a vampire. They met on a Usenet forum. The forum discussed mid-level bicycle races so their meeting was fortuitous. They decided to meet one another on the day of the thirteenth moon at the darkened burial ground of Europe’s ancient East.

A week before their meeting he turned his wrists up to the sky in a blood offering to his brother Moon. Blood dropped to the ground like marbles and onto the grass outside of his terraced house. Brent called out from the kitchen asking if he’d like some tea, that’s his life partner. Brent is a dragon. Derren said “No” and called back toward the open window “What was it the bank wanted?” but Brent wasn’t listening. They haven’t been in love for months.

Derren Brown began to pray to the dragonlord Al’Kor and watched his bloodied lawn as the stained earth reformed around him into symbols and words then sentences. These sentences directed him to the lowest cost flight to Europe’s dark heart and on Wednesday afternoon he reached the ancient Steppes by Ryanair.

He didn’t say to Brent when he’d be back. When Derren left he quietly left out the back door, counting every footstep and creak. Brent cried when he knew Derren wouldn’t have heard him.

From the black Steppes Derren took a taxi to a large house in the West End and at around 2pm he met the gaunt vampire. He was invited inside to the vampire’s sterile, rock lair in town centre. The vampire was just installing new heated floors and apologised for the mess. Derren said “It’s no problem!” and they smiled at one another. Then they spent all day sharing their interests over tea and had overall a lovely time.  When he returned home Brent was gone, as were his things. He left a note but Derren didn’t read it.


Hello Yaniv Schulman!

I have just watched your documentary film on meeting women from the Internet, award nominated Catfish. This hit me at a core that has previously been hidden under layers of muddy ignorance.

Yaniv I think I am in love. His name is Bryont. We met when I was looking for a replacement hand surgeon on an Internet forum. My bright womanly pupils catching his lanky locks. My firm woman mouth chapped and burning with static electricity after practicing kissing on my monitor screen.

Bryont is a successful and expert doctor of eyes.

Here is a picture he sent me from his Apple iPhone of his colleague Doctor Bruno Motorcycle and their secretary Aqua.

It didn’t encode right and he says it was in a weird format like 736×333 so I can only make out his hot bod when I squint, and at that point it’s like staring at him in stereoscopic 3D and I have to lie down.

Bryont is also firmly in touch with his feelings! His heart is so big he once adopted a small deformed man he found selling candles outside a recycling centre in Beijing. Here is his adopted son Ziggy who he had hired in his hospital to also sell candles.

Ziggy loved candles! Bryont was teaching him to say the word by coaxing him with pieces tin on account of his teething but unfortunately before he could learn it one of the nurses gave him the wrong sort of tin and he got so excited he had to be put down.

Yaniv, sometimes I love Bryont so hard I hurt myself. He has invited me to live with him in his barn but after seeing your show I begin to ask myself: is he too good to be true?

Arise Fair Havisham

Havisham wants you to lay your eggs in her, then she’ll recharge and refuel on the liquid in your spine.

The image above is a still taken from my playthrough of The Sims 2 from 2009. It’s a picture of Havisham, a character whose fame rose to such heights that she even got published in the glossy pages of this magazine which is read by over three people. Havisham was the star attraction, the lusty pink siren, of my response-playthrough to something that was called simply “Alice and Kev,” a “Sims drama” by Robin Burkinshaw that made the rounds on the blog circuit for being an “emotional” take on Sims’ gameplay. Alice and Kev was a mawkish human interest story about homeless people and how they live in fields.

Havisham and Morrissey was basically an EastEnders subplot about building a house with three rooms and repeatedly ordering babies over the phone so Havisham could rack up maternity leave cheques. You can read it Here and Here and Here.

But the heart and soul of the series was Havisham’s face. Thanks to Sims 2’s awesome customisation settings I could create a Havisham whose eyes said “I have neurofibromatosis” but whose lips read“big lovin’”. The character creator was made up of a series of sliders that could be slid so far in either direction that her mouth could start receding into her chin leaving only a faint Mona Lisa smile of polygon clipping. Her nose could be extended out to look like a giant flaccid cock that arched past her jaw.

Which is why it’s a shame that by Sims 3 and now Sims Medieval the guys over at Maxis have been bated into the limiting world of normal realistic bone structure. Sims Medieval’s character tech is an extension of what we saw in S3 – something that made all of my characters look vat-grown to perfection.

Thanks to new inclusions such as the nebulous sounding “next gen Sims tech” the most I could squeeze out of my latest Medieval creation, L.L. Crusades, was an faint eye tilt that made him look a quarter less royally inbred than I originally aimed for. Which means on average 40% of all character creations will instantly result in the Princess Bride’s Carey Elwes.

Lucky for you I’ve come up with a few alternative ideas to help you out in your time of character creation need, full with backstory and pre-picked character traits.

Sim Elfin Randy Newman


Creative Cook


Sim Elfin Randy Newman was a secret orphan and now he kills whales for fun. He assaults them with droll songs about how crazy the world is until they beach themselves and bake like pies. He will sing softly and cradle them in his arms until they fall into a dry sleep, then he will unhinge his jaw and swallow them whole like longpigs so they’re part of him forever. Randy Newman hasn’t made an album in three years because he’s been too busy filing his teeth to points. His favourite colour is Ochre and his blood type is None.

Sims Creator Will Wright  



Compulsive Gambler

Wright can transport himself into games at will. He’s made from 70% nanites, 12% leaves. What makes up the rest? No one knows and we’re not supposed to ask. Once he fired an employee after catching an inquisitive gleam in their eye and instantly turned them into a pillar of salt. Now he roams the galaxy in search of a mate, and once a season shoots his spores out of his cock and into a black hole to help populate the universe. Sim Will Wright has a Constitution of +3800 and can pull off wearing hats.

Celebrity Mel Gibson




Mel Gibson ate a full bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken and has fallen into a coma-sleep that’s sent him back in time. Mel woke up in a field and now is on a quest to kill every bear in the kingdom – it’s not personal, but he hates them because they’re black.


I haven’t written a proper blog post since about 2008 so don’t be fooled by the rest of the content on this site. It might look like spent January 26th writing exactly 19 posts about milk going off but I lifted them all from my defunct Livejournal to make it look like I actually blog regularly. As if I have time to write about milk these days. Anyway, this is back live and running. Hello!

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