I attempted to add horror to Sword of Moonlight

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I woke up this morning in a cold sweat: I had a really great idea for Sword of Moonlight, and I had to see if it could be implemented. I wanted to see if it were possible to have an enemy that constantly pursued you. Always on your tail, not hindered by obstacles like doors or walls, and can’t be killed through conventional means. Something that, no matter how powerful you became, would still keep you on edge.

What makes this so difficult is that this is how Sword of Moonlight handles artificial intelligence:

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And, sadly, the enemy I attempted to make fell victim to the same thing. At best, it would follow you for a little bit, before randomly turning around or swinging its sword at the air. Also, enemies move very slow, and outrunning them takes no effort at all.

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The best workaround I can think of would be to have this enemy type in a much smaller, confined area, as well as slowing down the rest of the game so that it can catch up. I’m not making the game slower for one enemy. That’s just asinine.

Not this time

I got into a fight today. Like, an actual fist fight. I haven’t been in one of those in at least ten years, and yet there I was, trading blows with someone, doing my damnedest to leave him in a pile on the floor. It worked. Somehow.

It was so spontaneous: some drunken asshole sees me, shouts homophobic shit my way, shoves me a few times, making sure to ask “whaddya gonna do about it, fag?” in between each shove. Normally, in situations like these, I either get the shit knocked out of me by a group of angry, tiny dicked losers, or I manage to run away. This time, I just hauled off and drove my fist square into his ugly face, a sickening sound of nose cartilage snapping under my knuckles serving as an exclamation point.

I’ve never been a violent person. Never been very tough. Always gone out of my way to avoid conflict, to a point of maybe compromising a little too much in an argument, just to end it quicker. The concept of solving your problems with your fists always seemed really stupid.

But I really, really fucking loved hurting this guy. I’ll never admit that out loud, but I did. It felt so damn good to drive an elbow into an eye socket. It felt good to force my knee into his gut. It felt good to kick him in the balls (I never said that I fought fair). It felt good to get a couple of good stomps to his face in, before getting pulled away by a group of strangers. Standing up to hatred for once was one of the best feelings I’ve ever had, even though I feel sick thinking about it now. All that blood, all that anger; I felt like a complete monster once I finally calmed down. I can’t believe I let myself get dragged down to his level! But I’m also so very thankful for the opportunity. It’s sick. I’m sick. I needed to go home and lie down.

I know I shouldn’t feel so bad about this. I had every right to kick his ass. Hell, we all dream of standing up to some bigoted fuck and making him feel as defenseless and scared as he’s made so many of us, to just let all of that anger out at once. And yet here I am, feeling like shit about it. It’s so fucking stupid. But, I suppose that’s what happens when you solve your problems with your fists.


I’m curled up in a fetal position in the corner of my living room. It’s past midnight. All of my lights are off, save for my television, which is playing some children’s cartoon. It has a talking dog. I think the dog is yelling at me. “You stupid motherfucker! This is why nobody likes you!” They let this on a kid’s show?

There’s a knocked over bottle of pills on the floor. I don’t know many I took, but it was enough to hurt. My body doesn’t want to move. I’m seeing colors that I can’t describe. Are they even real? That fucking dog is at it again. “Aw fuck! Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry! Goddammit!” The dog is breaking down into tears. I feel bad for him.

I’m getting really tired. I want to go to sleep, but the cartoon dog jumps out of the tv and starts grabbing me. “I don’t want to fucking lose you! Please, stay awake!” I try my best not to, but I get sick all over him. I want to apologize, but the words don’t come out, so I just hope that my stare can get my point across. It doesn’t.

The dog says nothing now. Just holds me close and sobs, stopping only to spit out, “Goddammit,” at himself. I want to comfort him, as he’s doing for me. But I can’t. All I can do is close my eyes.

Tony Hawk time


I found my copy of Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2 today, so I fired up the park creator and made a level.


I couldn’t quite figure out how to export the save file using a memory card manager, so I just threw the virtual memory card into a zip folder and I’ll hope for the best. It will work on any Playstation emulator. And by any, I mean ePSXe and PSXfin (although you shouldn’t use PSXfin, since it has an error where it will freeze if you try to save in THPS2). Just unzip it, put it in your “memcards” folder, select it in your emulator’s memory card tab and you should be golden. If it doesn’t, feel free to scream at me.

Brag about your high scores in the comments.

Get it here!

Serious Post

This has been a really shit week for me, emotionally speaking. I usually only have, at most, a couple of days where I just mope around and hate life. Never before has it been a whole week.

This week was really bad, I straight up fell into a pit of despair and just didn’t care anymore. I’ve been really closely following all this Gamergate shit since its inception, watching horrible shit happen to people who fall outside of “The Norm.” And it’s just that wonderful reminder that we’ll never be accepted, and really only makes my already shitty mental state all the worse. Women, People of Color, LGBT folks, anyone who isn’t already a part of the status quo will always be looked at as “lesser,” regardless of the progress we make. There will always be that ugly, violent side that will do its damndest to revert to the ways of old. Whether it’s using fear and intimidation to scare victims into silence, or just straight up beating and murdering them. It shouldn’t be considered “brave” to be Out in public, and yet it is, because in the worst case scenario: you can be killed.

I can be killed.

I haven’t cried in years. I was probably fifteen the last time I did, after a particularly brutal beatdown I suffered from my father. Oh, I’ve been sad, certainly. But never any waterworks. Deaths of loved ones, bad breakups, bouts of “God I’m such a worthless piece of shit,” have all been handled as stone-faced as possible. I’m sure I look like an emotionless robot. However, this past week, staring at such a concentrated level of hate directed at people just because they could, was too much for me. Seeing shitty nerds willing to shoot up a school just to keep the tits in video games as large as possible try to goad a trans woman into committing suicide (unsuccessfully, thank goodness) was the breaking point. I just sat back in my office chair and wept into my hands for, I don’t know, fifteen minutes? Maybe twenty? I don’t know. I just know that the rest of my day was an absolute blur. I went to sleep early that night.

People see me in public, or they read my work online, and I’m sure they think I’m this happy dude. I mean, fuck, literary professors tell me I’m talented and porn stars tell me I’m attractive, I should have a massive, over-inflated ego! I should be starting every day with a fistpump and shouting out to nobody in particular that I’m the fucking man. Instead, I slowly roll out of bed, my first thought being, “I’m such a piece of shit. I hate myself.” That’s what mental illness does to you. Praise is mere patronage. Compliments are a formality. You know the real truth: that they’re full of shit. That they’re just saying these things to be nice. You don’t deserve any of this. You are completely fucking worthless. Fuck you. Add in the fact that I’m frequently told that I’m a child-touching, disease-spreading degenerate who will bring ruin to Western Civilization because I get turned on fucking dudes and watching other dudes fuck each other, and you had better believe I spend a lot of time feeling like my brain is a massive paperweight. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

And, getting back to Gamergate, I wouldn’t wish that shit on anyone, either. Terrible people harassing borderline suicidal people into going over the edge hits way too fucking close to home for me (remember, Zoe Quinn, the main target of this campaign, made her name on an autobiographical game called “Depression Quest”), which is probably why I’m so invested in this than any other serious issue facing the world at the moment. I can’t just log off Twitter and ignore this. If the victims can’t, then I shouldn’t be able to, either. I wish I had even an ounce of courage these women have. In their position, I would not have it this long; it would be nothing short of a miracle if I were still alive after week number three. I can’t respect them enough.

Special Agent Francis York Morgan Enters The Battlefield!


I wrote Deadly Premonition fanfiction please kill me.


Zach, is that who I think it is? Of course! Anybody these days will recognize that blue fur as belonging to Sonic the Hedgehog. His first game was released by Sega, back in 1991. A good year for video games. Did you know that, although this was his first game, it wasn’t his first appearance? He actually debuted as a car ornament in a racing game called Rad Mobile! Certainly a humble start.

I was the kind of gamer who preferred the slower, more methodical pace of the Super Mario Brothers. But you, Zach? Yeah, you really loved to watch that little guy run so fast. You once played the whole game three times in a single sitting, transfixed on Sonic’s every move. His bright colors and “in your face” attitude really exemplified the spirit of the 90s, didn’t it?

Well, exemplified what advertisers thought the 90s were about, anyway. All that slang! “Dude!” “Radical!” “Don’t have a cow, man!” Hmm, it’s a little silly to think about nowadays, I think. Maybe once this case is over, Zach, we’ll dig our old Sega Genesis out of the closet and and give Sonic another run. I can’t wait.


Careful, Zach! That’s the man who defeated Mike Tyson in his prime! A shame that the game he starred in didn’t even have his name in the title. Sorry, Little Mac, but “Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!” will sell more copies, it seems.

But what an inspiring story Punch-Out was, Zach! An unknown boxer, rising through the ranks, and defeating the heavyweight champion in his prime, despite being in a smaller weight class! Sure, it just sounds like the story of “Rocky,” but WE were the ones doing the fighting this time!

Mike Tyson was later removed from the game by Nintendo. The popular story is that Tyson was removed after being convicted of rape. Sadly, Zach, the real story is always much more mundane than the wild theories we love to create. Nintendo just didn’t renew their agreement with Tyson after the world saw him humiliated by James Douglas. His mystique vanished shortly after that fight, and he went from unstoppable God of Boxing to a mere man from that point. A reminder that even the best can have everything come crashing down around them at a moments notice. I hope the same happens to our “Raincoat Killer.”


Let’s talk about a gaming classic, Zach. “Duck Hunt” released in 1984. We didn’t get it in America for another year, of course. You remember the sound of the trigger on the NES Zapper, don’t you? A satisfying “click!” Oh, that takes me back…

Sorry, I’m trailing off again. Duck Hunt was surprisingly a lot of fun, despite being so simple. Just shoot the ducks. A morbid concept turned into pure joy. Ha ha, I remember you always picking up the second controller and making the ducks fly away from wherever I was aiming. We got into a lot of ridiculous arguments, didn’t we, Zach? Maybe it’s true that video games cause violent behavior, after all!

One thing I’ve never quite understood, though: all the people who wanted to shoot that dog. Who wants to shoot a dog? Dogs are much more valuable than we humans realize, Zach. Being in the bureau, we’ve become so used to seeing police dogs; so angry, so vicious. The Id of humanity’s dark underside. We have to remember that dogs are our friends too, you know. Which reminds me, we need to get those bones back from our good friend, “Deputy” Willie, the games master.


I’ve been feeling like shit lately. Just really down on life in general. So, in dire need of self-confidence, here’s a risque photo I took today:


Thank you Nintendo for letting me use your product for this.

You would think my butt was bigger, given how I spend so much time sitting on it.

Another Sword of Moonlight update


I have been hella procrastinating on this project, lately. I tell myself that I’m just in that part of design where I play a bunch of other games and steal their ideas analyze their strengths. While I have been doing that (I bought Oblivion and Dragon Age last week, and have been mentally taking notes on what I like and don’t like), it’s just an excuse to goof off, really. I just haven’t been up to it, is all. Mostly due to a massive lack of creativity I’ve been feeling lately.

Tonight, though, I got back into the thick of things. The reason being is that I’m just tired of the way things are. After these last couple of months of bull shit (see last post) silencing tactics by bigoted turds climbing out of the toilet that is The Internet, the one thing the world absolutely needs right now is more “undesirables” making games. My big gay ass is back into map making, dialogue writing, and tedious difficulty testing.

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This Gamer Gate shit has gone on for far too long


Scared, confused children screaming and throwing a temper tantrum over minorities “pushing an agenda” aka “existing” and realizing that they are nothing more than dinosaurs of a dark age on the verge of collapse going out in one last violent outburst that they think is a blaze of glory, but is really just an impotent whimper, exposing their shitty, maggot-ridden underside to an unknowing public in the process.

Meanwhile, game sites like IGN and Gamespot are more concerned with bringing us the hot new takes on the LittleBigPlanet 3 creative suite than they are with people in their own industry who could very well die before this is over. That’s probably what will happen! I don’t want it to happen, and I hope that I’m wrong, but I can’t shake the feeling that someone will die simply because Eron Gjoni is a fucking loser who can’t handle getting dumped, and decided to stroke the already bright flames of misogyny in video games as a form of psychopathic revenge. The only “intimacy” that dickless motherfucker needs in his life is to get intimate with the inside of a jail cell. Him and all the other Gamer Gate spokesmen out to ruin lives because they’re so full of their own shit that they look at themselves, as “gamers,” as an oppressed minority. Of course, that is only wishful thinking. They’ll be innocent in a court of law, and you can’t really punish someone in a court of morality.

Once this is all over, all these worthless cavemen grunting about social justice warriors and 7.5’s and shit will just go right on back to their games, like nothing ever happened. Because that’s all this is to them: a game, with a clear winner and a clear loser. They’ll think nothing of the lives ruined, relationships strained, careers ended; just whether or not they “won.” Zoe Quinn might as well be Sephiroth to these assholes. And the leaders of this industry, the people with the loudest voices, simply do not give a fuck. Or they do, and side with the terrorists, the bigots, and the other rancid shitstains of humanity that this world will hopefully leave behind.

Let me make something very clear: “Gamers” are not a minority. They are not a race. They are not a gender. They are not a sexual orientation. They are not a religion. They are the label given to those who consume a form of media. Skinheads will not wait outside a club so they can corner you in a dark alley and practice field goals on your face because you like Halo. You will never be followed around by overzealous security staff at a convenience store because of your choice of dress was a Sonic the Hedgehog t-shirt. The President of the United States will never go on television and define marriage as a union between two people who think Street Fighter II sucks. Mike Brown was not killed by a corrupt cop because of his XBox Live Gamerscore.

Comedians on Twitter calling you a pissbaby is not oppression. Anita Sarkeesian disabling YouTube comments from people who literally want to kill her is not oppression. Brianna Wu retweeting a meme someone else made is not oppression.

But the bullshit that you’re pulling in the name of ethics? Of journalistic integrity? THAT is oppression!

“James attempts to make amends for being a terrible human being” tour 2k14

I had a very long Skype conversation with someone tonight. No, this was not a conversation about depression, like you may have assumed. It was just general chitchat with someone I haven’t spoken to in a year or so. It was weird, because it felt less like a chat and more of a debate. A debate with myself. At least, myself from about two years ago, when I was an obnoxious shitheel saying and doing stupid shit. I didn’t get mad at this guy or anything (and he wasn’t particularly bad, just doing the “mental gymnastics to find ways to justify people being shitty” thing tha I’ve been guilty of), I just held my (digital) tongue.

I’d like to think that I’ve spent the last month and a half to two months growing up a little bit, and finally getting that level of maturity that a 28 year old is supposed to have. But that’s not true.

If you haven’t been following the comment threads on my posts, I reinstalled Skype for people who are struggling with their problems, and feel the need to vent, just so they can have someone to talk to when they feel like nobody else will listen. A way for you, the reader, to feel better. And maybe a way for me to feel better, knowing that we’re not alone in our day-to-day emotional struggles. This offer is still open; my ironic as hell Skype handle is on the sidebar over there. But I’ve also been reminded tonight why I still haven’t grown up.

A couple months back, an online friend of mine was going through his own battle with depression and having suicidal thoughts. I didn’t feel as though he was being serious, though, and got pissed off at him. I thought that using humor while openly discussing suicide felt like an insult (it also happened to occur when I was flipping the fuck out over completely unrelated issues and I irresponsibly lumped this is with them), rather than just him deflecting his emotions. I should’ve taken what he said seriously, especially since nobody else did. Instead, I was no better than the people who ignored him, and stopped talking to him for a while. Luckily, he’s alive and getting the help he needs. But it could have been so much worse: What kind of asshole am I, to be telling people that I’m willing to hear them out on their problems, and then turn around and tell someone else who’s hurting to fuck off?

I apologized to this guy tonight. Whether or not he accepts is up to him. He doesn’t owe me anything, and is well within his right to tell me off at any time. Regardless, I’ll have that guilt and that heavy conscience on me for a very long time.