Hydrogen: Surely this is what Wagner was imagining when he composed the Ring Cycle; sand and extras flying through the air, legally ambiguous bargain knockoff sand people, and gratuitous multi-split screens for non-stop action.
Trillaphon: The translation's a little rough in some parts, but yeah that's the gist of it. The Ring Cycle was actually symbolic of the endless circle he crawled around his bathroom floor between the bath and toilet in while ritually purging all of his bodily fluids in an effort to cleanse himself of the toxic memories of this movie.
Hydrogen: You're talking about yourself again, aren't you?
Hydrogen: At least they stopped dicking around in this giant sandbox and chasing mutant hyper-chickens long enough to have some explosions near them. They've been wandering around in the desert longer than the Jews.
Trillaphon: Nope, any desert scene shorter than the director's cut of Ishtar barely registers as a subliminal message now that I've suffered through Battlespace.
Trillaphon: And so ends the first and probably last Sand People Minimalist Desert Parkour Invitational Acro-Jam, under what could only be considered genocidally tragic circumstances all-around. They always travel in packs, but they prefer to die by the bushel.
Hydrogen: Is this how the Recon saga ends? Please?
Trillaphon: I wish, then we wouldn't have to watch this random annoying fat guy explaining the resolution to the block-headed cybertronic Killfrau. And with that final "fuck you" from the vast, miserable universe of Recon, we can finally say our fond farewells to whoever the hell made this and kept making it and wouldn't stop goddamn making it, whatever the hell any of it was.
Hydrogen: Yes, and we want to wish Christian Viel and his buddies all the best of luck in the future, unless they're serious about the whole making Recon 2024 thing, in which case we hope instead they die in a blazing, stinky trash inferno lit with the film negatives of the first three Recon movies.
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Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
Ignore the hype. Find out how these games will likely go right or wrong.
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