Paul Veer

I like my pixels big and meaty. Not pong racket meaty, mind you – just meaty enough to see. Um. Like minced meaty. It’s a throwback from having spent my formative years in 16 bits.

I doubly especially like to rain smite upon pixels such as those aforementioned. Another 16-bit-induced dementia, no doubt, and one amply catered to by the low-fi takedown of the Serious Sam franchise that is The Random Encounter. Continue reading

I’m a slut for cuteness. Give me half a chance (and the correct tools) and I’ll etch Hello Kitty’s outline into every tooth I can reach.

I’m especially prone to cute robots. Unlike their mammary-beglanded counterparts, they don’t need to be housebroken, you can tinker around inside them without getting your hands covered in blood, and it is much simpler to attach flame throwers and pulse rifles to their body parts.

So it is not terribly shocking, then, that the sight of Celestial Mechanica – with its triple posthypnotic suggestion of things cute, robotic and Metroidvanic – reduced me to a drooling state of automatic consumer obedience. Continue reading

I’m terrible at decisions. For example: Do I pick the Peking Duck or the chocolate shortbread? Should I tie my shoelaces or let them drag in the mud to show off my nihilistic pretension? Do I want a pet rabbit or a sniper rifle?

Here’s another one: How do I top my first post? Continue reading