Recent reviews by Abszilla

Hauuuuuuuuuu~~~!!! Omochikaeriiiiiiiiiiiii~!!! ☆ ☆ ☆

A girl used this game to carry me around in her arms and take me on virtual dates and now I'm her irl boyfriend. Thumbs up.

"THE ALIENS CAN'T KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS!!!" I scream, while dousing an elementary school in gasoline.

I'm killing myself and I'm taking you all with me.

How long would it take you? Calculate the time in your head. Me? From where I sit writing this Steam review? Five minutes. That's three-hundred seconds. That's all the time I'd need. Three-hundred seconds is all the time I'd need to kill a man. HECK, I could bring that down to at *least* two minutes if I really ran for it. Give me an hour - I'll kill a guy and get away with it. Give me two hours - I'll kill two guys. You know what the perfect crime is? A crime with no beginning. Give me two hours and I'll create a crime with no beginning. I'll hide the bodies so good even *I* won't be able to find them. They'll dig them up and they'll just be gone! Where'd they go? WHO KNOWS!

The year is 2072. There IS NO HOOBASTANK. There IS NO BREAKING BENJAMIN. The only band that remains is Kidneythieves. Grab yourself a SoBe and prepare your butt for a dystopian future so realistic it can only be rendered by the POWER of the XBOX.

COMBAT 1000 METER TALL WAR MACHINES
IN THE NEWEST INSTALLMENT OF THE
ARMORED CORE SERIES.

Do you know what the most important thing in the world is? It's love, my friend. Bubby, if you ain't got love, you'll stop breathing and pass the heck out.

Sometimes the consequences of callously hurting a woman's feelings are catastrophic, irreversible, and utterly life ruining.

This game brings me back. Much like protagonist Keiichi Maebara, I, too, had a paranoid schizophrenic episode resulting in the deaths of multiple women. "Jesus Christ!" they would say. "Put that down! You're going to hurt somebody!" HA! Like, I would fall for that. Keep playing innocent, you ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥, I know what you are. What kept bothering everyone was the weapon held in my hands; it was a heavy metal baseball bat that had, during the prior weeks of escalating attempts on my life, become inseparable from me. As far as weapons go, it was discrete, my last line of defense in a world that was OUT TO GET ME. I spent my nights barricaded in my garage, drenched in sweat. I couldn't let myself sleep. I knew *they* were coming to kill me. The moment I shut my eyes, they would attack. During my days, I would train. Feet firmly planted on the rough asphalt of a Home Depot parking lot, I would practice my killing technique. With each swing of my bat, I would let loose a primal war cry. It was a warning to those who wished me dead. "♥♥♥♥♥♥! BLEED! EAT ♥♥♥♥!" When the townsfolk saw me screaming and battering the ground, they would pretend to act confused. I'd play along with their act by responding with a line that had become all too familiar to me. "Haha! Oh, who? Me? Just practicing my swing! I'm headed to the major leagues, aha!" But we both knew the truth: it was a facade. I had never played a game of baseball in my life. What I was doing was preparing for war. Incidents like these... killings, disappearances, freak accidents... they were common in Melbourne, Florida. Whispers spoke of a curse cast upon us by our town's cruel and malevolent guardian deity, Ron Desantesu-sama... Typically, I wouldn't believe such nonsense... Yet my harrowing experiences of the town all but confirm the curse to be true. The memories of these times send shivers down my spine.