This is both a trick and a treat

[On this, the most holiest of holidays, I think we all need a good reminder that you can never really eat too much candy. Or take your costume too far. How many people must continue to suffer until we learn our lesson? The Actual Charlton Heston is dedicated to making sure we take Halloween seriously. Happy Halloween, motherfuckers. - Wes]

"He was taller t?han a ?building," insists the first man.

"He was taller than a mounta?in," the second interjects.

I take a moment to consider their testimonies. I think they're both full of shit; I take a bite out of a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. While continuing to ignore them, I finish off the bag of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups that I bought from the local 24-hour pharmacy. It's Halloween season. People get crazy. They claim to see all sorts of unnatural things: Mothmen, Methmen, Mothmen who sell meth. Only thing I care about during this season? The ridiculous prices for Rees?e's Peanut Butter Cups in bulk. Hell of a steal.

Reese's Peanut Butter Cups; if you're going to buy Peanut Butter Cups, these are the ones you should buy, probably

I fl??ash my badge at the first man: He won't shut his damn trap, and I need to assert my authority. "Look man," he says, "that badge looks like you bought it at a Dollar Store." He's mocking me, the cur. "Also, why are our necks tied up?"

A good question. One which I have forgotten the answer to; so I tear open another bag of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and stare him d???????????????????????????ead in the eyes as I eat the entire bag. A bead of sweat courses from his brow, to his cheek. I'm getting to them. I'm about to break the case.

I couldn't be more wrong.

They really are very good; they are the only thing I keep in my pantry, besides my insulin shots

The bag is empty. I open another. I can feel a part of my br??ain die. I ignore it. "You mother fuckers," I start, "were at the scene when–"

Okay, so, now I'm having a bit of a diabetic seizure; at least that's what my doctor calls them. I prefer to call it, "?the time when the pretty lights dance in my head." It'll be fine. After all, the suspects are properly restrained, so there's no way they could break free.

The suspects have broken free, but there's no reason why you shouldn't enjoy a delicious, healthy bag of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups

It turns out, you cannot properly restrain t?wo grown men with Twizzlers, even if you tie them with a hangman's knot. Once your victims -- suspects, rather -- smell that delicious, sugary noose, there may be no stopping them. Also, make sure to restrain their hands: Hands can do all sorts of things, including putting a T?wizzlers noose into the mouth, so that the mouth can then bite into it to confirm that the Twizzlers rope is not, in fact, actual rope.

While delicious, these do not make for effective restraints

Also, hands can throw a stool at you, and concussions are bad for?? your health.

If only the stool were made out of soft, peanut-buttery Reese's Peanut Butter Cups; I would have caught it with my teeth, instead of my forehead

Okay, I'm able to admit when things have gotten out of hand. I'm an emotionally mature adult, and I can embrace my failings with grace and dignity. As my vision begins to clear, I can see one of the men rapidly?? closing the distance between he and I. I'm assuming he is the one who threw the stool. I'll have to be diplomatic about this, lest things become volatile.

So I unholster my handgun and empty the entire magazine into the ceiling. Both men cower in terror, until they realize I am still trying to fire an empty handgun into the ceil??ing. Both men see their chance, and rush at me. This could be bad: They've murder in their eyes. Or panic. I'm honestly not sure which, but I'm not about to take any chances here: I unholster two more handguns and empty them into the ceiling. You can never have too many handguns, and I have several more hidden on my person, just in case.

"Okay," I say, wh??eezing, and choking on chunks of drywall and through a cloud of drywall dust, "let's be diplomatic, here."

I rise to my feet while coughing up either peanut butter or drywall. I hope that i??t's peanut butter. With both handguns -- freshly loaded -- I motion for the suspects to return to their stools. Except for the asshole who threw his stool at my face: I unload a healthy amount of ammunition on his?? stool. His stool becomes splinters. That guy gets to squat.

"Look fellas," I?? begin, as I holster one of the pistols and flash them my badge again. "We've been living together for 3 years now. I don't want this to get ugly. All I want to know is, who ate one of my bags of savo?ry Reese's Peanut Butter Cups?"

"Dude," suspect number one -- the chattier one -- begins to plead his case. "You're taking your Halloween costume way too seriously. You're not a detective, I know for a fact that you bought that badge at a Dollar Store, because I was there when you did it. And for the last time, neither of us touched your? damn candy. Also, I think you have a problem."

I unload a round into his kneecap.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you shot me, you asshole, what the fuck, my knee, oh my God, fuck, shit, that fucking hurts, shit fuck!"

I unload a bag of Skittles into my mouth. Then I unload a round into his other knee. I will have justice before this night is over. I will honor the badge? and all that it stands for. But I'm also starting to lose my sugar high; I only have one bag left on me, and I really want to put this whole sordid affair to rest. Both are clearly guilty, they're just stalling for time. I also really want to go get more can??dy.

You really can taste the rainbow in them, and it's one of the few things getting me out of bed in the morning

I remove the magazine from one of my handguns. I check to make sure a bullet is chambered, and then I place it at my feet. "Consider this a kindness, you two-timing dames," I tell them both. "I'm going to blow this joint, see. You cats get to decide who deserves?? that bullet more."

"Jesus Christ, please, stop this, you're not a detective from the '50s. It's a costume, man, and we didn't touch your candy!"

I don my trenchcoat and pop its collar, tilt my fedora just right, and place a lit cigarette in my mouth. "Tell it to God and Jesus when you meet 'em," I say to them as I back out of the room, my badge in one hand, and a gun in the other. As I leave, I flick the cigarette into the room: I don't smoke, but I keep them on hand for exactly thi??s sort of scenario. Also I drenched most of the building with gasoline. Their screams are in unison, until I hear a single gunshot from inside. Now only one man is screaming. I open up another bag of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. There, between the screams of anguish and my sugar rush, I find my bliss. "Happy Hall?oween, mother fuckers," I whisper.

Happy Halloween, mother fuckers

The post Halloween, and how to do it correctly appeared first on Destructoid.

Hot and heavy

_{[I have a special place in my heart for the  Dead Or Alive series, and I see I'm not the only one to have eyes for the ladies of this surprisingly long-running fighting game series, featuring beautiful people bashing each other in the face. For the record, Charlton Heston picks Kasumi, but my girl is Lei Fang. ~Marcel]}

Howdy! I'm writing this in response to the Band of Bloggers prompt. You can read this, if you want. I p?romise to be gentle. If it's your first time, we can just snuggle. I am nothing if not a gentleman. If you want to leave, th?at's cool, too; I won't hold it against you in the slightest. Not everyone enjoys the touch of my tanned, leathery hands.

Are you still here? Okay. Whew. Thought I may have scared you off with that whole, "tanned, leathery hands" bit. So, Boxman214 has provided this month's BoB prompt. I don't want to speak for him, but I think he might enjoy the touch of my tanned, leathery hands; a tale for another time. P?erhaps one involving alcohol and velvet furnishings.

I digress. He has asked us which game we have fallen in love with over the course of a summer, and I'm here to answer his heralding. While I did fall in love with Russian Roulette one summer in Tunisia, this will be strictly about a video game. That video game? It's called Dead or Alive 2, and it saw me through one of my darkest hours.

You're taunting me; I love it when you taunt me, you kinky, Oriental lady

I've been told by other folks who've played this game that it is about fighting.? That may be true, but I submit that there is far more to gain from this game than sublimating your primal desire to beat the shit out of another human being. Friends - all of you dear to me - this game allows for so much more. Not only can you whale on a digital person to the point that an actual one would be maimed and possibly brain-dead for life, it also allows you... well, a picture is worth so much more than words:

To find love again

I remember my first love. She was short, with dark hair and doe eyes. Her form, supple. Her touch, so sweet. But before we were to leave on our summer trip to Cancun, she left me for a young Spanish boy (he was of age, but what did he have that I didn't). I was?? devastated. I whiled away the month of June in an opium den, far away from the sunshine of?? Cancun and the vice-like grip of my love's thighs.

Eventually, I grew tired of the sweet kiss of opium. It could not ameliorate my broken soul. As I stumbled out of that opium den, friends, I saw a vision. It was on a poster on display at a local shop, that sold something called Manga. I hadn't the foggiest idea what a "manga" was, and frankly, I didn't care. I burst into that shop with all of the fury of a detoxing Zeus. After I released my grip on the shopkeeper's windpipe, he infor?med me w??ho the angel displayed on the poster was.

Her name was Kasumi, and I was on the rebound.

Her eyes gave me great comfort in my time of need; the rest of her form supplied me with raunchy times that will go down as some of the raunchiest to ever raunch

We took it slow, at first. I learned how to control her, how to make my will her own. Soon, my fist became as hers. It was not long before we were in sync, she and I, a whirling dervish of fists and absolute domination. We were unstoppable. We conquered all who came before us. I could sometimes see her panties. We were destined for one another. We stood upon the summit, and all that lay before us from atop that peak was ours for the taking.

Break it! Break it, my love! Daddy's so close! YES!

I wish I could say that it worked out between us. That she and I rode off into the sunset, her voluptuous form pressed against my back, gripping me like a vice. Just like... just like my former lover used to do. But as often happens in life, we went our separate ways. Eventually, the game's disc broke. I won't say it was because I often tried to stick my penis in the center hole in an effort to get closer to my Kasumi. That would be churlish of me. But the disc? did break, and we parted. I still remember that summer fondly, despite how deeply it rent my soul. I can still smell the sweet smoke of opium. I can still picture the first time I saw her.

Summer love, so sweet; so nubile and pure

Treasure all of the love you have in your life, friends. Keep it close, and love it bac??k tenfold.

You n?ever know wh?en it's going to leave you to fuck a young Spanish boy.

The post Band of Bloggers: Dead or?? Alive 2, and the passion of a summer? romance appeared first on Destructoid.

Together. Forever. Together. Forever.

[We Community Managers usually like to add a witty intro to promoted community blogs to get readers in the right mood. Unfortunately, any attempt at outwitting The Actual Charlton Heston's NieR: Automata exposé would be in vain. It blew me away in more ways than one. - Bass]

Howdy. Been a piece since I wrote a blog. How are you? How have you been? Me, I've been grappling with such giants as meth distribution, and on occa?sion, recreational pottery making. These combined endeavors take ?up most of my time: hush now, it's not that I don't love you. I just needed some personal time to assess my feelings.

I'm writing this because, as the title suggests, LaTerry (who is, in fact, a real dragon) has graciously provided the community with another Band of Bloggers prompt. That prompt is robots. I like robots. Do you like robots? Some robots in Japan will let you hav??e sex with them, and it is not illegal, even though they can't say no. I think that's pretty cool because I like sex? and I like robots.

The peak of sensuality

You may now be wondering what a Japanese sex robot has to do with video games. Well, everything. Or possibly nothing. Honestly, I'm on the fence here, but I had to somehow justify mentioning my love for fucking dead-eyed Japanese sex puppets, or you guys might think I'm creepy. I don't want that, my mom doesn't want that, and I'm going to hazard speaking for the community at large and say that you — dearest reader — don't want that.

Anyway, I'm here to write about a game that features robots, that I have drunkenly played for maybe an hour: I am unsure. That game is NieR: Automata.

As far as I can gather, this is a game about a blind robot who is also a maid, and she is desperately trying to teach us the true meaning of Christmas using only her ass

The first thing I'd like to say about NieR: Automata is that it is a fun video game to play. There, I encapsulated my feelings for the gameplay in a single easy-to-understand sentence. But I am not finished, so strap the fuck in, because I'm about to strap the fuck on.

It?? has been (erroneously) stated time and again that 2B is eminently fuckable; that she is the bee's knees, the top "waifu," the cat's meow; that she is what many of you see when you close your eyes and allow the silent darkness to escort you in to the sweet ?embrace of your most lurid wet dreams.

You are all wrong, and I'm about to ??science the shit out of this to prove it. Because I have nothing to lose and?? God is dead.

This is the true peak of fuckability

Look at it: gaze upon its form, and be swallowed by the terrible finality of it; the gruesome reality that you will never find a more perfect thing to do the sex with/on. Know in your heart of hearts that all eroticism stops here. It cannot go any further. You want to fuck this robot. You need to fuck this robot. Do not deny yourself the pleasures of its cold, rusted form. Do not deny the swelling in your heart that cries, "Yes, this thing is the only t?hing I ever need penetrate."

One of these things is for sex; the other one is 2B

You are in denial, I know; as I once was. "Charlton," you cry, "You are wrong! These robots have no sexy lingerie! They have neither breasts nor supple ass! I would sooner turn on my blender and fuck it than I would one of those rusted, assless affronts to the name of Jesus!" But, what have you to lose, if you entertain my righteous cause for even a brief moment? Further, what have you to gain? Ah. The answer to the former is, "nothing"; the answer to the latter? Everything.

From here on, for the sake of the children, all of the robots will be censored, in accordance with 1 Timothy 2:9 which states, "Likewise also that women [sex robots] should adorn themselves in respectable apparel, with modesty and self-control..."

Do not fore??ver tether yourself to denial; flush from your spirit all feelings of apprehension, and shatter every last wall of doubt. Community, I beseech you — all of you — to dig deep. Tear down your posters of 2B and ?9S. They are base harlots. They can never truly please you; they can never truly fulfill you.

Let the scales fall from thine eyes!

I have made my case. It is air-tight; it is bulletproof. The onus is on you — each of you— to turn from lies and to now tread the path to truth. I cannot walk the path for you. I can merely show you the way. I cannot masturbate for you, for you must take your own dong in hand/vigorously apply vibrator, of your own accord. I don't want to overstate the gravity of t??his, but this might be the most important decision you ever make.?? So, please, I implore you all one final time: make the right one.

Fuck. This. Robot.

I am actually Charlton Hest??on, and I endorse this messag?e with all of my heart and with every last inch of my dong.

The post Band of Bloggers: The robots of NieR: Automata appeared first on Destructoid.

Promoted from our community blogs

_{[The Actual Charlton Heston reviews the best game about walking for the Band of Bloggers prompt, The Forest. A game where you walk, very quickly, away from mutant cannibals. Want to see your own blogs promoted to the front page? Start your own blog! ~Marcel]}

Hi, my name is The Actual Charlton Heston, and the only thing I'm qualified to be writing is the menu at Denny's. I'd like to take a moment, though, to talk to you/at you about a game: The creators of said game called it The Forest, a??nd it is undoubtedly a video game which you can currently purchase and play in real life, and it takes plac??e in a forest. Pinkie swears, totes didn't make it up.

See? I don't have the Photoshop chops to make that. I also don't have Photoshop, so it's absolutely a real thing

Anyshits, this game, yeah? We've established it's a game? Cool.?? This game sees you, the protagonist surviving, Robinson Crusoe-style, on an island after your plane crashes. Sans the overt racism, and with the obvious modern amenities, like iPods, and fleshlights.

Sounds pretty great, right?

That's because you haven't met your neighbors yet. They are all mutant canni??bals. Each and every last one of them would like nothing more than to rip your dick off and plant it in the soil in the vain hope that it will grow into a dick tree that they can harvest and use to sustain future generations of mutant cannibals. Look, I didn't invent socialism folks; but these fuckers perfected it.

Digressions aside, this game ?has everything necessary to make it in to this month's theme: You're in a forest, you can walk around in it, and it is a real video game. You're reading this. You're in this with me??: You have wasted your life as badly as I have. Let's get down to brass tacks.

With those out of the way, let's continue.

The game begins with a plane crash. Should have said "spoilers ahead," but it's in the first god damn trailer on the Steam store page, this is partially on you.

Anyway, you have to find your kid or some shit, I dunno. I'm on day 65 and, honestly, I forgot he was even a factor. I got distracted by all of the cannibal hunting and fortress building. You know how it is. Kid'll be fine, character grows out of adversity, after all. Plus, after 65 days, there is no way the mutant cannibals have not eaten him. It's what they do.

I may be a bad father, but I did build a treehouse; if he's alive, he's going to be totally stoked to see this shit

The game is primarily about survival: You need food, you need water, you need warmth, and you absolutely need to avoid fighting packs of cannibals, because for real, you're basically on their lawn and they are all - each and every one of them -Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino. I won't spoil anything beyond the basic cannibals. Let it suffice to say that you should tread as lightly around them as you would at a friend's house during a sleepover, if your friend had really physicall?y abusive parents. Don't expect to trounce?? these guys like you're Carl Weathers or something.

If I had guns like that, I'd be married to Carl Weathers by now

Look, I'm no reviewer. I'm a man easily pleased. I'd never presume to tell you that my opinion should dictate whether or not you play a game. My opinion is worth little, and it should be treated with disdain and derision. I will, however, say this much: The Forest made me feel, for a few brief moments, what it was to have a son I truly did not give a shit about, because he ?is on screen for all of 20 seconds before every horror imaginable is foisted on you and the cortisol overload takes over. You WILL kill cannibals. This is a given. You WILL forget your son needs rescuing after you take your 89th stealthy stroll through the woods in search of rabbits to kill, lizards to skin, and clues to find.

Meet your new neighbors; some of them are Mormon, but none of them wear clothing, just like in real life

There is much to be gained in playing The Forest. You migh?t learn to distrust every sound, every rustling bush, every yelp in the distance that sounds too inhuman to have been bellowed out of a human throat. You just might decide to build a treehouse, as I did, and hunt that which hunts you by the light of the moon, your zeal for their blood your only objective. You might actually try to find your kid, which, ?yeah, Child Protective Services probably isn't going to let your parental negligence slide, so you'd probably better get on that.

Build ziplines, play guitar solos in your head as you zip and zap on 'em. Find weapons and necessities in the deepest, darkest caverns, teeming with horrors you can barely see until i?t is too late. Take a shit off the edge of a cliff while ordering a set of tea cups from SkyMall, for all I care, just know this: they have your scent, these creatures. They will assail every fortification you build. They wi??ll come at you with numbers unending. And then you can kill them with cleverly placed traps and pure, animal rage, cutting off their body parts, and building a burning effigy out of said parts to ward off future attackers. The world is your oyster.

Shit, nevermind, the world is not your oyster, just run

If you have childhood abandonment issues, I'm not sure I'd recommend The Forest for anything besides exposure therapy. Look, it's a given at this point that my son is dead. He is now fertilizing an ill-conceived dick tree on the peninsula, somewhere. But, if you enjoy stabbing mutant cannibals in the throat with make-shift spears, building deadly traps and unassailable fortresses, and generally fucking with what would have otherwise been a stable ecosystem? You shou?ld probably play this game.

And I guarantee this like I guaranteed my failed line of brake pads: He?artily, but with much regret in hindsight.

Still no refunds, you filthy, damned hippies

The post Band Of Bloggers: An idiot att?empts to ?review The Forest appeared first on Destructoid.