A few years ago I started playing Red Dead Redemption and lord almight, it was awesome. My brother Ash told me one day he started keeping a daily diary for the game, of all the crazy shit he does. I thought it was brilliant, and whipped up a few entries. Thank you brother.
****WARNING: This post is “rated R”, so those of you with children, make sure they aren’t peering over your shoulder. Or if you get queasy at the thought of blood and violence, move along.******
RED DEAD DIARY
(An intrepid view into my personal gaming experience with “Red Dead Redemption” by Rockstar Games.)
Another Game in Paradise
Having realized that this game is just a western version of Skyrim, I decide to play it in exactly the same style: Play through the story till I’m considered a hero then kill everyone I possibly can.
And so the game begins, and already I am talking with a southern accent in real life and not realizing it till it’s too late. I have also begun to formulate a sequel storyline to write up and send in to Rockstar Games.
It has been three hours. I have killed 137 people, died 27 times, killed 3 dear, and am just now able to successfully ride my horse. The gentleman selling the “cure-all tonic” is quite silly and I am very much enjoying this part of the story. I cannot wait to kill him. It will be slow, brutal, and I will wear his skin like a leotard when I murder his family as well (if that’s even possible. If not, I will write it into the above mentioned sequel). I am also hoping that there will be a part of the game with a sanitarium and, if there really is a god, a character that looks remarkably like Colonel Sanders that I can fillet.
Also, if I have to hear another cheesy, over the top one-liner from Bonnie I’m going to kill her and her whole farm. Animals included.
Death, More Death, and an Irishman
Hunt. Ride horse. Kill. Poker. Ride horse. Camp. Storyline. Kill. Storyline. Kill. Ride horse. Poker. Save Game. The end.*
Nothing like a little mindless game-play at the end of the day.
*Side note: At this point I have said the phrase “You have got to be shitting me” almost as many times as I have died.**
**At this point I have died 114 times.
I enter my 112th poker game. Needless to say I have already played a lot of the storyline and have found it substandard. No I don’t have a gambling problem; it’s a god damn video game. So there I am, with 250 chips and an Ace/8 hand. Throughout the game I have been consistently losing to a gentleman with a large moustache and a sombrero, you could almost say he was “whooping my ass” but I would prefer the term that I was “temporarily giving my opponent the upper hand”. Two Aces come up so I bet big, or at least big enough to lose to a full house and I am now down to 37 chips. I go all in with a 3/4 of diamonds and lose to a pair of two’s. I have “busted out”.
Immediately I stand up from the table and use my “quick draw” skill that I had learned in Mexico to kill all seven people in the room in a matter of seconds, except for the bartender. The man is just doing his job. What am I sadistic? I notice the “posse” symbol has entered my map on my H.U.D. so I decide I am officially bored of this town and wish to bid it a fond farewell. With all the politeness of a rabid zombie prostitute with gonorrhea, I kill every one I can possibly find as the “posse” gets closer. With all of my goodbyes met with solemn tears (not mine) and a bit of blood (also not mine), I kill the gentlemen on the stage coach and take the reigns. Successfully driving right through the center of the “posse” on my way out of town, I take a couple with me (in spirit) and right out into the great plains of “New Austin”.
Excited by my recent atrocities in the name of greed, I decide to head out to do some hunting. I exit the carriage, whistle for my horse, and am immediately mauled by a cougar. Death number 115. Karma is a bitch.
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