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5/7/2003: Weekend Updaters Always Forget The Bloody Title

Since I'm from the U.S.A., and as a result reference things that may not exist outside the U.S.A., at least one of my updates has made no sense because the audience of this site is primarily British. In this update, I am attempting to make absolutely sure that this doesn't happen. Not by actually researching Britain, I mean, though that would be a valid way of doing things. Instead, I'm talking about something I'm sure nobody here knows about.

So, Japan!

Ever notice how everything from Japan is either the best thing ever or the worst thing ever? I dare you to name a mediocre thing from Japan. There's Nintendo, and there's Sailor Moon. There's The Venus Wars, and then there's all hentai. For the purpose of this update, I'm going to focus on one specific worst thing ever aspect of Japan, because I doubt I can write a long enough update that basically boils down to "Gosh, I sure enjoy jumping on turtles and then falling to my death off a moving platform."

So, to end the pointless intro, Super Wrestle Angels is by far the worst game I've ever played. I can sum it up in one sentence. Super Wrestle Angels is a softcore anime porn wrestling card game. Yes. Yes, I just said that. Though the game is entirely in Japanese except for random single words such as "super," I think I understand it well enough to give that summary and say that it is accurate.

If she were a generation of baby eagles this would seriously
screw her up, but as it is I'm just confused. [What? -YZ]

In Super Wrestle Angels, you pick two, four, or six (female, do I really need to explain this?) wrestlers, and each of them can be controlled by the computer, player one, or player two. Then, they fight in a turn based system that involves picking one card ranging from one to nine, plus what could be aces because they have an "a" on them and selecting a bunch of numbered options in Japanese from a menu that pops up. Higher numbers seem to be better but not always. Then, in the center of the screen, a picture of what just happened in the match appears. Often, and by often I mean always, the characters in the picture in the middle don't match up to their avatars at all. It's kind of ridiculous really, because the art is decent, and they drew about 800 avatars, but only three crappy re-colored fighting poses, and since there's no actual differences between any of the characters, it would make sense to have spent more effort on gameplay than extra bonus underage girls with implants.

Since, really, I can't expand on how terrible this game is beyond the one sentence description, I made character profiles.

[Click the name to see a picture, thanks be to the wonders of the internet. -YZ]

Mary Jane: Mary Jane's name is a clever play on how she has green hair and looks stoned. When she first entered the Super Wrestle Angels tournament, she fared poorly, mostly because she kept forgetting to show up, instead choosing to sit around playing video games, and even when she did show up she tended to lose instantly due to falling over and giggling. However, after smoking weed that had been grown in waste from a nuclear reactor, she gained super speed and strength, her signature green hair, plus the ability to instantly hotbox any area, thus negating any advantage her non-stoned opponents might have. While this does not give her a very large advantage over most of the other Super Wrestle Angels, she has been able to defeat a few of the more underage ones who have a low tolerance.

Troll: Troll was a small, rubbery-plasticy doll with tall brightly colored hair that was popular in the mid 90s. However, like all celebrities, her popularity gradually waned, and when the press revealed her heroin addiction, even after she successfully went through rehab, her career as a toy for children effectively ended. However, freed from her addiction, she attempted to make a comeback. Sadly, other than a brief role in Demolition Man, her new career was an utter failure. She then moved to Japan, in search of a fresh start, which she found in the form of Super Wrestle Angels. Troll was inexperienced but quickly learned the ability of instantly having shorter hair and larger breasts, and while she lacks formal training, her DDT attack is known far and wide for making eggshells thin and brittle to the point of actually not existing within one generation.

Sabrina: Sabrina is 18.

Sailor Moon - Tiny Creepy Pink Haired Edition: SM-TCPHE got tired of having nobody who wasn't extremely familiar with the show (losers) have any idea who she was, or what she was supposed to be. Eventually, she quit the show, hoping to establish her own identity, or at least have her own name. However, the world had already typecast her as an inexplicable pink haired midget associated with Sailor Moon. Sick of constantly being asked questions like "where are the non-creepy sailor scouts" and "why the hell are you so tiny," she decided to enter the Super Wrestle Angels tournament, in exchange for an experimental height and breast augmentation technique, performed by the best scientists of SWA. The operation was a total success.

This is a screenshot from the title animation thing. I swear to God that, as far as
I can tell, the one on the right is totally not featured in the game.

Sammy Davis Jr.: Little is known about Sammy Davis Jr. After he lost his eye, he was struck by a particularly strong strain of Michael Jackson Disease. Though she survived, she was changed forever, and became a recluse for several years. Nobody knows what happened during that time. However, there has been much speculation as to her experiences. Some say she wandered the world in search of people who would train her in vaguely erotic anime girl fighting. Some say that she found the mysterious Stone of the Ancient Bear, which according to legend, gives the person who wears it invincibility in battle, and was split into two pieces by the gods to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. All agree, after seeing her pin Fat Manly Chick in under twenty seconds, that she is not to be taken lightly and could easily be the next Super Wrestle Angels champion.

Angry Blue Chick: Angry Blue Chick has been the uncontested Super Wrestle Angels champion for the past six years. Though several of her victories have been questionable, and one of her matches resulted in the death of her opponent, Girl Who Is 18 And Not Underage And Has Breast Implants #12, she has survived and her reputation is more or less intact.

Grimy McGrimington: Grimy McGrimington's father, Angus McGrimington, was an undercover cop trying to prove a connection between a major organized crime syndicate and Angry Blue Chick. He disappeared mysteriously and his body was never found. Although it was never proven that he was murdered, Grimy knew that Angry Blue Chick was behind the killing of her father, and vowed revenge in the form of defeating her in the Super Wrestle Angels Tournament. After being defeated in an early round in a previous tournament, Grimy spent years studying, and has returned determined to avenge her father. Then, on the way to the bus stop, she fell in a puddle.

Fat Manly Chick: Fat Manly Chick is a shape shifter from the planet Xevroniast. After being stranded on Earth when her scout ship suffered a critical failure, she realized that she could gain an advantage over human opponents by gaining and losing weight at incredible speed, thus confusing them into making critical errors. Though she has sent a signal to her home planet, she will not be rescued for several years.

Masks? No, we weren't wearing masks a second ago!
Certainly no masks or huge continuity errors here!

Oh, I forgot, there's some sort of thing that looks like a "story mode." I can't tell what the hell is going on in it, for obvious reasons, so I totally ignored it. I assume it's also the worst thing in the universe. I purposely didn't include a ROM file, because nobody should play this game ever. You can find it if you try, but I seriously suggest that you don't.

4/7/2003: Ze Prisoner Is Ready For Ze Interrogation

This week, just in case you thought I'd forgotten about it (oh ye of little faith!) the second instalment of the advice column everyone on the planet* is talking about, Ask Yahtzee! Remember, keep those questions coming in!

Tomorrow's weekend update comes courtesy of MaskedMonk. Just so's ya know!

*Which planet, we're not entirely sure.

3/7/2003: Hooray/Boo

What with the fourth of July coming up, I figured I should do at least something to mark it. Problem is, what? My British readers no doubt expect me to do another smug character assassination of the Americans, like the one I did when I started doing articles for Lance and Eskimo precisely two years ago to the day. However, my animosity towards Americans has degraded somewhat since I started loathing my own country, and hell, I have some very good friends in America. So, what to do without offending my chums or betraying my readership?

This is what I came up with:

Americans read this Non-Americans read this
Oh say can you see by the dawn's early light, I believe it's American independence day! Holy golly wow fuck, you Americans sure do love your holidays! You've got, like, shitloads more than we do. We don't have an Independence Day or a Thanksgiving or a Labour Day, at least not while Tony Blair doesn't have his way. Don't bother reading that other column, there's really nothing in it! Today's update is USA AOK!

I think it's great that you celebrate the day you hacked away the oppressive limb of King George with the axe of liberation. 'Cos no-one else does that. Poland doesn't mark the day Hitler pissed the fuck off. And we here in Britain certainly don't mark the day some nondescript caveman decided to give a name to the rolling green pastures around him. We just don't know when that was, y'see. I suppose we could celebrate when Julius Caesar pissed the fuck off, but no-one knows the exact date of that, either. And how are you supposed to celebrate the anniversary of "55 BC"?

The good thing about America's history, I suppose, is that it's completely definite. No grey areas. The country was discovered in the 15th century (nothing was going on there before that, of course. Nothing productive, anyway) and was colonised by selfish puritan bastards. Then there was a whole lot of unpleasantness involving witch hunts and civil wars, and then the 1950s rolled around and everyone started wearing leather jackets and quiffs. My point is, everyone knows the history of the US from start to finish. British history, meanwhile, has this great big gap in the middle we call the 'Dark Ages' where no-one has a fuppin' clue what was going on. So we mainly just made up a load of bollocks about dragons and King Arthur and whatever. Kudos to you guys! No magic swords feature in your nation's history!

I, for one, would just like to say how grateful I am to America for all their selfless work towards international security. They're like a gigantic Lone Ranger, seeking out injustice and stamping it out with a crack of a whip and a yee-haw. I mean, sure, we haven't found any weapons of mass destruction in Iraq yet, but those towelheads had it coming! And Saddam had a moustache! Everyone knows all the truly evil men in history had moustaches. Remember Groucho Marx! Yikes!

I'm sure they'll find those elusive weapons of mass destruction any day now. They're probably just buried really far down. Really, REALLY far down. Like the Earth's Core or something.

The fourth of July has rolled around again, the day when Americans become even more insufferable than usual. You know, American culture is so rammed down the throats of everyone worldwide that confused countries who have no business celebrating it mark Independence Day. I remember once at my middle school Independence Day was marked when the school dinner ladies served up hamburgers and Coke. Understand how unusual this was, because I was firmly of the opinion that our school dinner ladies knew of no drinks other than weak squash and milk.

So, Americans, then. Self-appointed vigilante defenders of the world, kind of like Superman, if Superman was retarded and only fought crime when he felt like it. And if he beat up innocent members of the public for something some other guy did.

The best way to tell if a group of people has a massive ego problem is whether they have a special word for people who aren't them. Godbotherers have one (atheists). The military have one (civilians). Americans have one too. They call us "Them".

I think I've figured this out. Americans always have the moral high ground in wars because the initials of their country spell out "US", while the enemy is "them". And in a fight between "us" and "them", we always want to be with "us", don't we?

Americans also have a special word for people who don't like them. This word is "Anti-American". What the fuck? No other country in the world does that. No-one uses the word "Anti-Nepalese". We don't call the yanks "Anti-French". And I hate the tone Americans attach to the word "Anti-American" that implies that it's somehow on the same level as being anti-mankind.

And oh yes, George W. Bush. I used to think he was a harmless, amiable buffoon, but now the man scares the shit out of me. Look at him. He's a half-bright chimpanzee fanatic who has somehow gotten hold of the keys to the world's most formidable military power. Does he ever sit bolt upright in bed at night and yell "Holy cow! I'm basically the most terrifying person in the world!"? Does he then giggle and masturbate quietly? Pointing at countries, claiming they have weapons of mass destruction, then bombing the fuck out of them... it's like the Salem witch trials all over again, but with countries. And bombs. And moustaches. So not much like the Salem Witch Trials, then.

I think I'd better go now before Dubya's elite squads accuse me of having chemical weapons and start bombing my house.

2/7/2003: Happy Happy Joy Joy

So, me, then: An insightful commentator on life and society, or a bitter curmudgeon with more than the recommended daily allowance of chips on my shoulder? It occurred to me recently that I write so much about stuff I hate while devoting very few column inches to all the things I love about this world.

Generally, this is because I have a comedy ranting angry man thing going on, and it's difficult to get really steamed about something you like. Not for want of trying, mind you.


You see my point. But I don't want to give the impression that my hatred spreads to all things, so, for a refreshing change of pace, I've decided to list some stuff I find most agreeable.

- Maltesers

- Boobs

- Boobs covered liberally in a coating of mashed-up maltesers

- John Cleese before 1980

- Buried treasure

- Half-Life

- 'Pop-Up Pirate'

- Coming up with really easy ideas for updates

- Wheelchairs

- Fingernail clippers

- The Beatles' White Album

- Buying a copy of The Beatles' White Album and finding an unopened bag of delicious maltesers inside

- The letter 'J' (see illustration)

- Peeling a label off something in one go

- Getting four rows at once in Tetris

- Long walks by the water processing centre

- Adam & Joe

- The adoring gaze of a faithful hound

- Canada

- Fellatio

- The cheese and potato pie they used to serve at my old middle school

- My central nervous system

- TV Go Home

- Slaying your master's murderer

- Slaying your master's murderer and finding an unopened bag of delicious maltesers in his chest cavity

- 'Polyester Girl' by Regurgitator

- Nostrils

- Biting a Halls' Soother in half and feeling all the delicious goo come out

- The first three series of Monty Python's Flying Circus

- Bruce Campbell

- A ten foot sculpture of Bruce Campbell made entirely of maltesers

- A FIFTY foot sculpture of Bruce Campbell made entirely of maltesers with a pair of white-clad virgins standing around the base scattering rose petals

- Domino fall-overs

- Warm crusty bread rolls

- Columbo

- Having sex with a consenting partner and finding something you had been looking for for ages down the side of the mattress

- Ibuprofen

- Parachuting into Hugh Hefner's back garden

- Wet wipes

- Oxygen

That's about all I can think of right now, but if you have some more suggestions for the Nice List, feel free to mail them to me, or post them on the forum, or stick them up your bottom if you're into that sort of thing! Ha ha ha! Don't click that link.

1/7/2003: Early Snores

So There!

Television has betrayed me. I fulfilled my end of the bargain. I sat and stared blankly at the magical glowing box allowing my brain to slowly escape from my head through the thin river of drool running down my chin. In return, the television was supposed to supply me with entertainment that would inform and amuse. Somewhere along the way that became 'bore and infuriate', which is why I now spend most evenings endlessly re-reading copies of Watchmen and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Volume 1.

Which is not to say there is nothing on television I can watch. Historical documentaries always interest me, especially those ones full of endless shots of people in period costume and appalling false beards staring thoughtfully into the middle distance while the narrator rabbits on. The weekly 'Erotic Thriller' on Channel Five is always satisfying viewing, and until recently my life temporarily stopped for two hours every Wednesday when Columbo came on.

The BBC have rarely produced worthwhile comedy. A few classics have emerged, but they are surrounded on all sides by immediately forgettable garbage (anyone remember So Haunt Me? Thought not). When they do come up with a winner they beat it into the ground for as many series as their consciences will allow before moving hastily onto fresher ground (for your evidence, take the latter two series of Red Dwarf). Everyone's scared to innovate, preferring to stick with a proven formula until the audience start throwing things.

I'm always prepared to give new things a chance, which is why I decided to watch this new 'Early Doors' thing. It was supposed to be as good as the Royle Family, which I never watched, but which everyone spoke so highly of.

So, there I was, watching this Early Doors. Okay, it's about some pub full of Northern people. Right. There's a fat landlord and an old bloke and some policemen. They're making conversation... they're... they're... seems I have been misled.

Forgive me for being a traditionalist, but I always thought a programme billed as 'comedy' was supposed to make you, you know, laugh. Remember that, BBC? This group of unpleasant fat Northerners sat around doing nothing but have a conversation you could find in any pub up and down the country (except in Glasgow, where all conversation would be drowned out by the sound of breaking glass). I know that closely imitating reality was probably the intention, but such practise is reserved for drama and documentary. They seem to have been so obsessed with creating an authentic atmosphere that they absent-mindedly mislaid the jokes along the way.

The biggest confusion is the huge amounts of praise alleged sit-coms like this acquire. "I was in stitches!" wrote one viewer. Bollocks you were. Comedy of such an esoteric and meandering style can't split your sides. A comedy that brings real guffaws is the televisual weapon of mass destruction that was Father Ted. Father Jack shouting 'Drink!' is funny on it's own, but then he hurls himself out of the window. You laugh until you feel like you're going to die, then on comes Father Dougal. One sentence later, and you're on the floor like you're being beaten with the Comedy Baseball Bat. As soon as the ads come on, you're going to have to change your pants.

That's what all comedy should be like; sheer, incomprehensible relentlessness that makes tears stream down your face and your bladder malfunction. Anyone doing that in front of Early Doors (or as I like to call it, Early Bores) would be taken immediately away for psychiatric evaluation. People who say they were in 'stitches' are just trying to impress their faggy friends by pretending they 'got' the alleged humour.

We British should not be wasting our time with such sentimental drivel pretending to be comedy. That's America's job. Britain is the only country to have mastered the art of creating bizarre comedy full of unlikely situations and unpleasant characters who hate each other. By comparison, American sit-coms are like episodes of Barney the Dinosaur. Full of beautiful, happy people and misplaced moralising.

Americans endlessly take winning British formulas and remake them under their own flag of glurgy sentimentalism, and it doesn't fucking WORK. It's like trying to mix marmalade with avocado dip, they won't go together. But no-one over there has realised this, and the most insane, illogical part of it all is that the British are somehow convinced that the American style is BETTER. They attempt to mimic the style and even bring in American writers to simulate the soap opera-y tripe factor of Friends (witness the dismal My Family).

Well, here is what I say to anyone who thinks Early Doors is funny:


Actually, lose the 'cuntmunching', because that implies you have known the touch of a woman.

30/6/2003: One Two Three

1. Three more Angular Mikes! Bet you didn't see that coming!

2. I made a new banner 'cos I was bored:

3. For those who missed it last week, here's the word 'piss' in really big letters.


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All material not otherwise credited by Ben 'Yahtzee' Croshaw
Copyright 2002-2003 All Rights Reserved and other legal bollock language