One may question why a game about endlessly cleaning and tidying an area that's gruelingly difficult to get completely spotless is compelling in any way. You may wonder why a person doesn't spend that time actually cleaning at home or dedicating themselves to some other hobby, project, or personal aspiration.

It's hard to explain the zen-like quality of a game where you click and click and move back and forth and repeat simple and tedious tasks with seemingly no end. Perhaps that's the beauty of it, that you can turn off your mind and dedicate yourself to something that requires dedication but little thought, all in the guise of a game. You can turn on music that you've been neglecting between all the TV shows and movies and games and YouTube videos that have eaten up your time, without feeling like you're stomping all over dialogue you need to hear or making it harder to play. You can sit back for as long as you want without even feeling the need to accomplish something before you're done.

Maybe it is a waste of time and those hours would be better spent doing anything else, but there's a simplistic beauty in VCD that you can't find by picking up a mop of your own. Perhaps it's a comment on the tedious nature of our pastimes, replacing the repeated action of pointing a gun or a sword at someone and clicking until a task is complete with a different intellectual obfuscation of what we do every time we sit down in front of a game; perhaps there's no story to speak of, but perhaps life has no story and perhaps we're all destined to fail, to die, to make all our life's mudane and most important occurances meaningless in their cosmic insignificance, our every action nothing more than wasted and filled time on the way to our eventual and unavoidable end, meaningless specks in a cosmos filled with nothing more than chaos and indifference to our infinitesimally short and irrelevant lives. As we careen to our deaths, are we doing anything more than just spending every day grinding away at the same meaningless, soul-crushing drudgery, telling ourselves that the moment that will add meaning to a meaningless existence is just around the corner, that the inherent meaning of life is just to live and enjoy what we encounter? And is this rubber-clad space janitor not a reflection of our own broken spirits, our own endless burdens that we must carry until the moment we finally die, sure in the knowledge that every wasted moment we regret not filling with more - more love, more passion, more action, more knowledge, more travel, more adventure, more everything - would not add any more meaning or carry any more effect on our universe than if we had just swept garbage and gore into a bin for the whole of our miserable existences?

All in all, a pretty enjoyable game.