Mon, 07/18/2011 — Rev. Ragu
The dude doesn't even need a porn star name!
Sun, 06/12/2011 — Rev. Ragu
I suppose Duke Nukem Forever is finally being released, or has been released; due to Gearbox's bizarre staggered release date, I have absolutely no idea. When you read this, if you read it, which considering the amount Andore Jr. has been updated over the past two years, PROBABLY NOT, it should be out. As a writer for Andore Jr, Ecchi Attack!, and also an idiot, I can sympathize with the fourteen year development cycle - considering my history at prompt delivery of content. Sometimes banging your head against the wall is much more fulfilling and interesting than producing timely video game funnies; sometimes jerking off to Dead or Alive 2 on the Dreamcast in spectator mode is much more fulfilling and interesting than delivering a much-hyped video game on its twenty-seventh deadline extension. However, a lot of things change in fourteen years, the inexorable march of time spares nothing, not even a teenage boy's sex-deprived misogyny and underdeveloped sense of the transgressive. As such, Duke Nukem Forever has long since become more enjoyable as a punchline than it is anticipated by persons like myself, and I personally have no real need to play it.
There is better objectification of women than Duke Nukem out there; better mindless, bloodthirsty action; better toilet humour and sexism presented without a hint of irony. None of us are twelve years old anymore. None of us, because the human race spontaneously became sterile in 1990 and all you goddamn kids pretending to be a decade and a half younger than me are full of shit. Most of us have touched the genitals of another human being with the intention of giving pleasure. Come the hell on. We're too old for this shit. Women are human beings and not blowjob machines for our adolescent power fantasy avatar, we shouldn't still be excited by illicit thrills that we hope our parents don't catch us in the midst of when we walk into an adult movie theatre, and poop... Is still funny, I'll give it that. Duke Nukem should, by all rights, be completely obsolete.
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Thu, 04/14/2011 — Shadax
Ask any true hip-hop head about Sierra On-Line and you'll most likely hear nothing but admiration for the sprawling and detailed examination of the Robin Hood myth and the ramifications of the Third Crusade in Conquests of the Longbow. But only the most ardent scholars of the golden age of hip-hop remember the studio for perhaps its most underrated contribution to pop-culture: the rap group KQ4.
Founded by King Gram (a nickname the young man earned for his uncanny ability to weigh a package of cocaine to the nearest gram in his hand), Larry Laffer, and several of the most raw drug dealing computer programmers Simi Valley, California had to offer, the then unnamed rap collective languished in the obscurity of command line easter eggs for years. At a time when the nascent genre was dominated by party-raps and novelty acts, the group's raw lyrics bragging about the drugs taken to create adventure game puzzles went unheard for years until the widespread popularity of the rap that gave the group their name, The KQ4 Rap:
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Tue, 06/22/2010 — Sak
For years, Shouichi "ANGELA" Yoshikawa created tiny nuggets of solid video game gold. Nuggets that, while perhaps not the most polished -- or maybe not even the most fun, are without a doubt some of the most earnest examples of programming and design that the medium has to offer. For over ten years, ANGELA has ostensibly working on an online compendium of his Gesamtwerk. Included amongst these gems include everything from his contributions to video game design -- such as the elusive and lauded Block Gal -- to his video game related poetry and music; including his lyrics and music to one of the Phantasy Star Online games. We shit you not!
One crucial piece of the Angela puzzle has been missing for ten years, however. For ten years, Mr. Yoshikawa has promised his loyal fans a glimpse into the inner workings of a certain mysterious character. With the knockin'-on-heaven's-door legs of Tina Turner, the Italian-so-therefore-ample bosom of Edwige Fenech, and the eyes of, like, every anime character ever, Cherry Grace has been cet obscur objet du désir of the ten year old inside of every man who popped in a copy of "Golgo 13: Top Secret Episode" back in 1988. Though, as if in a Desclosian twist of fate, we have been able to control her body, but not her mind. What makes her tick? What's going on in that big brain of her's? What motivates her blowjobbery?
Only Angela knows the answers, and he's not telling. Until now. We encourage all Andore readers and fans to write to Mr. Yoshikawa at: firstname.lastname@example.org. Please be courteous and kind! Don't demand a Cherry Grace ROOM, but rather, let Mr. Yoshikawa know that his creation was one that we all enjoyed -- and some of us really fucking enjoyed -- in our youth. Remember, Angela holds the key to our destruction as much as he does our salvation.
Sat, 02/20/2010 — Rev. Ragu
Recently, my attention was drawn to a report that someone had spent $13,100 on an NES with three games. Rather than the asinine observation “DURR, MAYBE I CAN SELL MY NINTENDO ALONG WITH T&C SURF DESIGNS AND NARC AND FINALLY PUT MYSELF THROUGH COLLEGE AND CEASE TO BE AN EMBARASSMENT TO MYSELF AND MY FAMILY,” I was filled with bitterness and venom, for the game that put it over the top was a boxed copy of the apparently ultra-rare Stadium Events.
Stadium Events? What the hell? That is the game that Nintendo pulled off the market and hastily rebranded as World Class Track Meet, after they filed off the name from Bandai's Family Fun Fitness pad and stuck their own Power Pad label on it. So that's it: Someone paid thirteen grand for fucking World Class Track Meet, or that game where God Mode was basically “hit the stupid pad with your hands instead of your feet.” It's the rarest NES game out there, yes, but it's also a huge piece of worthless dogshit that has never brought a moment of joy to anyone in its entire existence, any historical significance it has has already been meticulously documented, it was rereleased in a form in which you can acquire it for fifty cents at a pawn shop, there's a ROM image out there ensuring that the apathy and nagging ennui of playing Stadium Events will persist forevermore, and its only value is in its scarcity. The only happiness and personal fulfillment this $13,100 copy of argh fuck and piss World Class Track Meet will bring its owner will be a momentary glimmer of something resembling emotion as he sees his collection complete, a single sparking of perhaps not joy, but at least something, in this sad fucker's life.
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Thu, 01/28/2010 — Rev. Ragu
My Darling Henrietta,
How I miss you, my sweet; your hazel eyes, the feel of your lips as we kiss, the warmth of your stomach as we lay together, all the love we made on bright and moonlit nights. It is, quite simply, hell to be here, so far away from you. We've been camped out in this city for a week now, this unnamed city in the border regions of Blue Moon, painting buildings red, red, the colour of my allegiance, the colour of my blood. My dearest Henrietta, I remember your tear-streaked face as you held yourself to my chest, begging me to reconsider my decision to enlist, and I now wonder if you might have been right. I joined this fight thinking myself to be doing the right thing, for love of country and love of you, and how I would give anything to protect both you and it. Ah, but I was so young then; perhaps my patriotism was only the young man's need for adventure, excitement, for glory and honour and all that nonsense. Here I am now, my uniform stained with mud and blood; both my own and of others, my face drawn, my body in perpetual readiness despite the sheer exhaustion from the sleep I could not get even if I was allowed. We hear the rumbling of tanks, the exploding of shells, and with each great roar of battle an inevitably agonizing silence follows. In the suffocating stillness our minds fill in the blanks, of all the dead men, the injured writhing in agony, machines lying smouldering and their occupants rent to dust. Maybe we'll be next.
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Thu, 01/21/2010 — Rev. Ragu
"GET OUT OF HERE, STALKER"
...And there goes another one. Why can't I stop doing this? I'm not even guarding anything here. It's a warehouse full of empty crates and a couple of pipes going nowhere, and here I am, pacing back and forth on this catwalk, trying to look like I'm actually supposed to be here, telling everyone to GET OUT OF HERE. I keep pushing everyone away, and though I want to stop, I don't feel I have any control over it!
I was in the bar one day, stuffing diet sausage in my mouth, downing whole bottles of vodka, miserable, not really having any idea why I'm out here in this irradiated hellhole full of incomprehensible death at every turn, telling everyone who tries to reach out to GET OUT OF HERE, STALKER. So one day, in a fuzz of self-hatred and last night's bender, I told myself that things had to change. I would make an effort to open up and learn to trust people again.
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Thu, 01/14/2010 — Rev. Ragu
You've tasted the sweet, sweet forbidden fruit of serial copyright infringement with the Touch Boy brand Gameboy copier - feels pretty good to be playing Go! Go! Tank, Catrap, Amazing Tater, and Bubble Ghost for free, eh? Didn't hurt as much as you thought. Helicopters didn't hover overhead, men in black balaclavas wielding submachineguns did not rappel through your windows, you were not manhandled and beaten about with the butt-end of a rifle by burly copyright enforcers, stripped, hosed down with freezing water, carried into a windowless gray room, buck naked, forced to answer deeply personal questions about yourself, your family, your love life, where you got the idea that you could play Boomers Adventure and Battle Bull without paying a dime. Feels really good, in fact. Maybe what they've been telling you about right and wrong and crime and punishment is completely false. Maybe... there are other forbidden fruits that are just as delicious.
Yes. Yessss. Your gray market Gameboy copying device knows. It knows that all morality is arbitrary. You've been playing Maru's Mission and Kwirk: He's A-Maze-Ing for years now. Never leaving your house. Afraid that everyone will know. You're marked, you're tainted. So just let go. You have nothing to lose. You're already bound for hell, figuratively speaking, why not throw a few more proverbial coals on the flames?
Come on man. Try it once. Fly. You can't get a habit from Touch Boy. Quit anytime you like~*
*Please note: The Andore Seven does not wish to condone or promote the sexual abuse of children, nor the illicit copying and download of Gameboy hits such as Bugs Bunny's Crazy Castle and Penguin Wars. Be good, folks
Wed, 12/02/2009 — Rev. Ragu
In 1989, Wizrobe released their most popular album to date, "Pussy Liquors & Fine Spirits." The album, widely known as a drastic departure from their EPIC FANTASY METAL roots, sent Wizrobe hurtling into the mainstream, the album eventually going triple platinum. Rather than the triumphal lyrics praising the deeds of the folkloric heroes of old and spinning fearful tales of the beasts that lurk on the edge of humanity's collective imagination, Wizrobe's new style was of the much more mainstream SEXY REACTION METAL (also must be capitalized). With the raunchy licks and erotically charged lyrics, Wizrobe found much wider appeal than merely blaring from parents' basements during all-night Dungeons & Dragons marathons.
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it is the nineties and it is time for klax