Typing that subject line makes me hate today’s rappers even more. Everyone’s shouting out God and Jesus and their “moms” and what-not, but they never deliver boastful WWF-circa-1987 speeches towards their arch-nemeses anymore. I promise that Ducketts Murda will be making a more concerted effort to hate and talk trash about every square inch of Indiana. We got the ball rolling on our myspace page, so check out our latest blog if it’s still up. Even if it’s no longer relevant, make sure you “jam” while you’re there like the two MJs once did!

Speaking of a nemesis– nay, ARCH-nemesis, this blog has its very own! Head on over to the blood-curdling Joseph Luster Retort to see what the “Mad Hater” John Wishon has up his sleeves. I await your rebuttals with the fiercest flame of my heart, you rogue!

Technically, I’m writing this entry at 3pm on Thursday the 20th. I’m at an undisclosed location in Louisville, Kentucky that wants me to pay for their internet services. For speculation’s sake, let’s call it The Cantina. It fits the bill. Yak-Face? Check. Chicken Alien? Check. Someone in line even told me that their friend “doesn’t like [me] either.”

It’s a good thing I didn’t come here for the atmosphere. I didn’t even come for the wi-fi. My mission is to work on the Top Secret Michael Winslow Project until my laptop’s battery hits the single digits. It’s also probably a pro that there aren’t any internet ghouls keeping me from working.

Scoop! Fatmandu to the left just shook his tail a bit when he stood up. His mating call may have worked on weaker willpower on a better day and in a sexier setting. Look out the window. He’s driving out of my life forever!

Take the temporal skiff ride with me. Now it’s twelve hours later, one hour left to save Toby from the Goblin King. Along with Justin, I learned that only two things need to be passed on to your children in regards to Enzo Castellari’s New Barbarians. Fit the first: Fred Williamson is probably your father. Fit the second: There is most definitely a scene, one that’s impossible to misconstrue, that involves Scorpion being butt-tortured by the head of the Templars.

It’s no wonder that some TV games can’t manage to be as compelling as they were fourteen years ago. How is the consumer supposed to qualify an adventure as worthwhile when developers and publishers have completely abandoned the moniker of Super? In fact, game titles as a whole have become so vague. I think the last game that really told the people what it was about was Playstation’s Blaster Master: Blasting Again. The name says it all. Blaster Master is back, doing what he does best. Too bad the game was kind of gay.

Heck, I imagine that niche games like Tim Schafer’s brilliant Psychonauts could even survive resurrection in this cold world through a “super” renovation. But is there more to this type of game than an astounding adjective?

Of course!

First, the obvious: everything has to be bigger! I’m not just talking about larger turtles or heftier anvils, the world has to be all-consuming. If comic characters were judged on this basis, Galactus would not only earn a “Super” before his name, but his nipples would be terraformed colonies that the hero(es) would traverse by necessity.

Applying gimmicks to your game isn’t necessary when everything is considerably larger. To be safe, however, analysts would also recommend more frequent boss encounters, including but not limited to one sub-boss per level. These are just suggestions, though! It wouldn’t be “Super” if it wasn’t fun, so just imagine the most super fun thing ever and digitize it!

Placement is key. Take Treasure’s semi-recent GBA effort Gunstar Super Heroes. Are we supposed to classify this as a “super” game? Let’s not mince words, they goofed. This name just implies that the characters have graduated to a higher level of being, excluding the advancements the developers have made in the game. Am I going to be experiencing a Super Adventure? I wouldn’t know, they won’t tell me before I buy it!

Still, could million-sellers like Halo benefit from this? Would I be alone in line for or Super Halo or Super Grand Theft Auto?

Or will you join me!?

Since I firmly believe it will be the Next Big Thing™, I’m going to go ahead and coin a new term: Clay-Manifested Video Blogging. That’s right, kids, you read it here first. Now do yourselves a favor and check out this “TV spot” for an upcoming feature on The Joseph Luster Report.

John and I watched Heathers tonight, but the real gem that came from the meet-up is this flyer I made for his band’s next show.

The “Summit Brew” ales told a short story while John and I were watching Prison Break and 24, but I ignored it. Later on in my cave, the progressively nastier ice beer tall boys I had nabbed from the corner store completed the request. “Update the Jooooseph Luster Report,” they said, like some foul banshee in the dark.

I complied.

Lately I’ve been into something I call “Day-Games.” That’s a terrible term and I hate it, but I can’t think of a better way to describe a game that you can “solve” in the course of 24 hours (I think it’s charming when people use that term to say that they beat a game). Let’s get specific, though. A game that takes 24 hours to beat does not count as a Day Game. Actually, anything beyond 8-10 hours is really pushing it.

A man (or woman - haw haw), needs to be able to beat one of these when he’s not slaving away at whatever lame job he has. Of course, with my current luxury of “Flexible Hour” employment, this isn’t an issue. On the other hand, your average Handsome Man might find it implausible to solve something like Armed & Dangerous in a sitting (pussy).

Yesterday’s “Day Game” was a much-belated run through of Capcom’s 2001 “Resident Evil with Samurai” game Onimusha. I had been meaning to play this since it came out, but never got around to it. A couple of years ago it was in the Circuit City bargain bin with its sequel for $4.99 a pop. I picked up both and allowed them a dust-collecting fate until the other day, when my fat 15 year-old cousin returned the first one that I had let him borrow.

“Aw man, ah beat it in like three hours.”

Liar.

Still, now I had to beat it that night. My cousin and his ample bosom wasn’t going to be beating my games before me. I roared through it. Despite the fact that it was originally designed for the PSone and sported Resident Evil tank controls peppered atop 1998’s finest pre-rendered backdrops, I loved it. It’s good quick fun that covers a lot of action bases in a concise way that most current games don’t bother with.

A lot of what I’d love to say about it will be covered later when I talk about Console Arcading, but as I get older, this style of TV-gaming is ideal. I want my action in quick 5 hour bursts that can be trapped like Bubble and/or Bobble in convenient capsules of cool and awesome.

Once my fat cousin brings it back, I’ll add some thoughts about the game’s sequel. Then, after I play through them all, maybe I’ll consider the absurdity of having so many follow-ups within the same generation.