War is not healthy for fancy chickens and other living things.
Sponsored by
L337.com
Yes, yes, yes, we realize this is the fourth game in a row that we’ve reviewed in the past seven earthly rotations around that big bright ball o’ fire. Are we taking the easy road? Have we lost the yeasty punch of yesteryear? Before you condemn this minor indulgence, you must consider the facts:
So there you have it. Let he or she who is lacking in sinful actions and/or desires fling the first sedimentary projectile.
Now we progress to the game itself, whose very name is enough to carve a permanent niche in the echoing cathedral of our heart. CHICKENS, ATTACK! We are hurled into a welter of dichotomous emotions. It’s an exhortation, a warning, a benediction, a curse. We feel joy at the ineffable surprises of nature’s bounty; we feel terror at the oh-so-fragile thread from which depends our own existence in a hostile world.
The essence of this game is difficult to convey in the short time we have left before the dogs track our scent, but we will try. Chickens try to steal eggs; you try to shoot chickens. FASTER! Chickens travel in pairs; you panic and shoot wildly. FASTER FASTER! Chickens gain upper hand; you stand on the brink of despair. FASTER FASTER FASTER! Giant crazy-eyed Master Chicken hypnotizes you with convulsive hip-hop moves; you lose all desire to live and sink into the bottomless pit — but wait — a solitary ray of hope still shines!
Does not Saint Brigid of Ireland still love us poor sinners despite our craven inability to defeat the fowl enemy? Would the patron of chicken farmers abandon those in need? When in the fifth century Saint Brigid prayed for “a great lake of beer,” was she not thinking of us too? Yes. We will keep the faith! Or not.
WolverineSoft, you plunged us into the stygian depths yet also raised us to the elysian heights. You abraded our aural canals with noises that bear no relation to shots (except maybe Jell-O shots) yet also soothed the savage beast beneath our giant fake boobs with plucky Ry Cooder-ish background music. You sort of, well, “borrowed” your chickens from an Aardman animated film, and we can’t decide how that makes us feel. We proffer a middling 6.5 as a relic of our dubious regard.
Posted by naomi at May 20, 2003 09:41 PM | TrackBackFirst! Chickens! Yay!
I'm stoopid!
What would Jesus's chickens do?
Posted by: Hodag on May 20, 2003 11:53 PMAs an Irish-American, I object to our inclusion into the article when an African-American stereotype would have been more suitable. Please refrain from our mention unless doing a review of software that involves excessive drinking, potatos, corned beef, or letting gay people march in our damn parades for some reason. Thank you!
Posted by: Peter O'Toole on May 21, 2003 02:01 AMSpringtime? I thought you were supposed to be Australian.
Posted by: synp on May 21, 2003 02:11 AMRhubarb pie is good.
Posted by: fuddes on May 21, 2003 02:26 AMUm, days are caused by the Earth rotating on its axis underneath the Sun. 'seven earthly rotations around that big bright ball o' fire' would be seven years.
Posted by: astronomer royale on May 21, 2003 04:48 AM"I thought you were supposed to be Australian."
He is, but he wishes he lived in a real country.
Posted by: USAPatriot on May 21, 2003 04:49 AMDear God! You people are really not keeping up here, are you. I come from Australia. The Jan, Ladd and Naomi come from the USA. And no, Australia is not "somewhere down near Texas".
Here (in Australia) it is autumn. There (in the USA) it is spring. Vous comprenez?
I swear it's like talking to children ...
Posted by: aussie boy on May 21, 2003 07:58 AMIt sure FEELS like seven years...
And what Aussie Boy said, yeah.
Posted by: naomi on May 21, 2003 08:11 AMI resent people saying Aastrailea is next to Texas. Nothing is even close to Texas! Texas is the biggest and the best! I'm from Texas and I am the most powerful man in the whole goshdarn world! Mess with me and I will tell everyone you have weppins of math destrukshun and we will attack you!
So there!
PS-I'm stoopid
"Um, days are caused by the Earth rotating on its axis underneath the Sun. 'seven earthly rotations around that big bright ball o' fire' would be seven years."
This is not correct. The Earth ROTATES on it's axis and REVOLVES around the sun. Therefore, seven "rotations" is correctly identified as seven days. Since the Earth does not rotate about the sun, 'seven earthly rotations around that big bright ball o' fire' is not an option. It would be 'seven earthly revolutions'.........
Posted by: know something on May 21, 2003 10:35 AMLeave our saint out of your perversion...
Posted by: Ulick McGee on May 21, 2003 10:49 AMIs there a Saint of conspiracy theorists? What about wargamers? I'm not really religious, unless you count Discordianism as a religion, so it doesn't really matter, but it would be nice to know wargamers get a saint to pray to in times of Leadership tests.
JFK.
Posted by: Laemkral on May 21, 2003 11:51 AMI laughed out loud when I saw the stained glass window. Well done.
Posted by: The Valrus on May 21, 2003 12:25 PMHooray for JeroMiya of iDevGames.com
Chicken Attack was developed in well under
3 months for uDevGame 2002 at
http://www.idevgames.com
there are 41 more games to review there : )
have fun!
Which is the patron saint of monkeys?
Posted by: Robo on May 21, 2003 01:19 PMI like to involve saints in my perversions.
Monkeys are unfortunately overlooked by the Holy See, but in related news, Saint Vitus is responsible for preventing animal attacks: http://www.catholic-forum.com/saints/saintv07.htm
And the GMC has launched a brilliant new strategy -- they clearly plan to conquer us from within:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/3042781.stm
Very funny review; way to show rowan atkinson/moltz who is the funniest... :-P
Posted by: anon. coward on May 21, 2003 04:25 PM
AUStin, Texas
AUStralia
Need I say more?
And isn't St. Bonzo of Avignon the patron saint of non-human primates and proto-hominids?
Texas? Only steers and queers come from Texas, and I don't see no horns on your head so that kinda narrows the field.
Chicken, yummy. Saint, dead. Break bread with your head.
I'm lonely.
YS
Posted by: Yohan Schmankel on May 21, 2003 07:05 PMI have a big wiener.
Posted by: longdongsilver on May 23, 2003 10:51 AMOH-GOD GIANT PEN...
Nonono, wait. I'd better get clarification. Do you mean a large casing full of the quasiedible remainder of livestock, or (like the new inflatable church!) a blow-up organ?
Posted by: Foxeryn on May 23, 2003 12:20 PMLoved your prose!
"Now we progress to the game itself, whose very name is enough to carve a permanent niche in the echoing cathedral of our heart. CHICKENS, ATTACK! We are hurled into a welter of dichotomous emotions."
Yes; yes we are!
I too laughed at the stained glass image right below the terrifying hip-hop moves of the Master Chicken.
Posted by: Susan on May 24, 2003 09:40 PMSusan, please go to your dictionary and look up "prose". Now go look up the page a wee bit and look up "poop". Mind you, I can understand your confusion. This place can get awfully tricky to the neophyte. Just remember two things. Nothing that's said here is true, and ... Well, guess that first statement makes my second point immediately redundant. Bugger!
Posted by: aussie boy on May 25, 2003 07:26 AM