It wasn’t until 25th March 2012 that another Sucks Arse blog came along. This one was structured a little differently from previous entries, foregoing both the captions below the pictures and the by-now-standard disclaimer at the bottom. Perhaps the reason for this was that I did kinda-sorta have these questions myself. Furthermore, this was the first Sucks Arse blog about a game that didn’t really receive much negativity; I just really liked the game and wanted to blog about it and this was the best way I knew how.
Zombies might eat your brain, but first they remove it by making you play this game. After about 6 hours you will find your grey matter pouring liberally out of your ears and you’ll be screaming at Mr John Marston to give up and succumb to the hordes of moaning undead. Here’s a question for you: when zombies finally take over the world and there are no humans left, what do they consume for sustenance? With fresh brains a thing of the past they will have to resort to eating each other and, frankly, I think that Zombie Brains will probably be far from satisfying.
This, among a host of other problems, plague Rockstar Games’ epic expansion pack. Why, for example, do the dead rise from their graves when they haven’t been bitten, and hence infected, by the zombie plague? Why do some characters look gnarlier than others (Abraham Reyes, I’m looking at you – and instantly regretting it)? And why is it that Aztecs cause so many problems? Is this all merely Spanish Conquistador propaganda? When we least expect it, the Spanish will launch a new armada and take over the world – this game is merely laying the groundwork.
Another question: Why is it that the heavily-armed, dug-in and numerous survivors are incapable of keeping a small town defended? Why does John Marston have to single-handedly save each and every town? Having to do it once underlines the panic and confusion of the terrified townsfolk; doing it twice just shows them up to be hick morons, incapable of telling the difference between the comfortable and dangerous ends of the firearms they are using. Here’s an idea: after the town is saved, how about the townsfolk take some fucking shooting lessons?
If flesh is constantly dripping off the shanks of the horse of Pestilence, why does it never run out? How does the personification of War spread terrible conflict throughout the four corners of the globe if his horse is so dumb-fuck stupid that it runs, willy-nilly, into rivers and over mountaintops? Why is is that Death’s horse, which can kill anything with the slightest touch, is perfectly safe for John to ride? And if the last horse is called Famine, where does it get the energy to run away from my damned lasso?
Turning our attention to the main game itself for a moment, why is it considered a greater challenge to skin 5 skunks, 5 foxes and 5 raccoons than it is to kill 2 cougars with your melee knife? Unless the skunks are 8 feet tall and capable of spraying you to death, I’d take them over the cougars any day of the fucking week. For that matter, why is collecting herbs considered a survival skill? And when I get to the level 10 challenge, why, after collecting 10 of those violet fucking snowdrop things do I then have to trawl about the Wild West collecting 2 more of every fucking herb I’ve already fucking collected? Why didn’t it just get me to pick two more of each one as their respective challenge came up if it was so goddamned important? And why is it that, once you’ve become a master survivalist, the tonic you can make from the herbs is so shit? After all that, I’d want the tonic to turn me into fucking Popeye or something.
Why is Jack Marston always calling his horse “Bastard”? “C’mon, Bastard” he yells at the top of his lungs as he digs his spurs into the horse’s flanks. That seems a little disrespectful, considering all the trouble his horse gets him out of as he wanders aimlessly about the wilderness, continuing his father’s pointless work. Also, since both John and Abigail are relatively good-looking folk, why is Jack such a grotesquely unattractive character. And why can he not fuck prostitutes? Sure, his dad refused because he was married, but Jack surely has no such scruples. Here’s a guy who’d just as much shoot you as look at you and he gets all coy around the ladyfolk? Really?
Why is it that the gangs of the Wild West, having been repeatedly evicted from their hideouts by one man, constantly descend upon their old haunts, only to be slaughtered by that self-same man only a few days later? Are gang members really that dumb? Judging by the way they scamper about like foggy-minded chipmunks, yes they are.
Why is it that I can be playing in a high-stakes poker game and have two clubs in my hand with three more on the table and yet when I crank up the pot I get beaten by a guy with a pair of twos just because the fucking game hasn’t noticed that five cards of the same suit is a fucking flush? And why can I sometimes have a straight, but lose a hand because the game thinks that my best choice is to go for a high card (often an 8 or 9)? In fact the real question is how much the game would like to kiss my arse.
Why does a suit look perfectly tailored after I’ve spent seventeen hours collecting the scraps for it? Shouldn’t it look like a patchwork quilt? Is John (or Jack) Marston really that good a seamstress? Or is that why he frequents the whorehouses – for their sewing skills?
All in all, Red Dead Redemption (and its add-on) was a game that was spoiled by a list of pointless and arbitrary Whys and Wherefores as long as my 9-seater sofa. Rockstar games should return to doing what they always did best: mailing you an Uzi and telling you to kill your congressman.
The Daily Heretic 