Farming, eh? Who’d have thought an activity so fundamental (and by fundamental I mean dull) could transmogrify into the gaming equivalent of a chocolate-coated crack pipe. And no, I’m not talking about Farming Simulator 2013, the very thought of which fills me with terror.

I lost countless hours (okay, 80) to Harvest Moon before I took my monastic vows and eschewed handheld consoles until I could afford them again. There is just bloody well something about the gentle rhythm of sowing and watering and harvesting and animal husbanding and fucking about with magical gnomes and smashing rocks to find DIAMONDS and maybe marrying the town alcoholic. I mean, isn’t there?

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