As Oklahoma gets ready to execute Emmanuel Littlejohn, spiritual advisor Jeff Hood arrives with a nearly impossible job. He’s there to try to stop the execution, but also to help Littlejohn and his family prepare for it if he can’t.
Over the course of five days, Hood spends time with Littlejohn and his family while fighting to convince the state to change course. It’s a deeply personal look at faith, family, and what it means to stand beside someone when the clock is running out. In the shadow of an execution, those things suddenly take on a whole different meaning.
A CPAP machine is basically a tiny bedside air traffic controller for your face. You strap on a mask, fire up the machine, and it spends the night gently blasting pressurized air into your airway so your throat doesn’t decide to close for business while you’re sleeping.
Or, more simply:
“It’s a robot that watches you sleep and says, ‘Nope. We’re breathing tonight.’”
Defender of the Crown: The Legend Returns launches August 13th, bringing this legendary Amiga classic back to life 40 years after the original game debuted! This brand-new version keeps the rules, pacing, atmosphere, and medieval goodness that made the original so memorable, while adding modern visuals, smoother mechanics, improved balance, a better interface, and plenty of quality-of-life upgrades.
You get three ways to play: Retro Mode, which faithfully preserves the original Amiga experience; Classic Mode, which gives it a modern visual and mechanical makeover; and the all-new Kingdom Mode, featuring procedurally generated maps, dice mechanics, unlockable abilities, and multiple difficulty levels. And it’s coming to PC, Xbox, PlayStation 5, and Nintendo Switch. So, after four decades, does Defender of the Crown still have what it takes to rule the kingdom? Let’s find out!
Describing TronicsFix is a bit like describing a wizard who specializes in resurrecting electronics from the Great Silicon Beyond.
The YouTube channel is run by Steve Porter, whose hobby appears to be buying game consoles that look like they were recovered from the bottom of a swimming pool, a volcanic eruption, and a toddler’s peanut butter experiment… then calmly bringing them back to life.
A typical TronicsFix episode goes something like this:
“Today I bought 47 broken PlayStations from eBay.”
Most people hear that sentence and immediately reach for a financial advisor. Steve reaches for a screwdriver.
Halfway through the video, you’ll see a motherboard covered in corrosion, mystery goo, and what might be the remnants of a prehistoric civilization. Steve squints at it for three seconds and says:
“I think I see the problem.”
Twenty minutes later the console is booting perfectly, displaying a crisp menu screen as if it hadn’t spent the last three years marinating in Mountain Dew.
The channel has developed a reputation for combining repair expertise with the optimism of a golden retriever chasing a tennis ball. No matter how catastrophic the damage, there’s always a chance. Burned traces? Maybe. Liquid damage? Sure. Console arrived in seventeen pieces? “Let’s see what we can do.”
In short, TronicsFix is where broken electronics go for their Rocky training montage.
Classic games from Sierra On-Line operated on a beautifully unhinged philosophy: “Congratulations on solving the puzzle. Unfortunately, you forgot to pick up a thimble three hours ago, so now you are permanently doomed.” These adventures looked cheerful enough at first glance, all colorful pixel forests and charming little castles, but beneath the surface lurked the soul of a trickster wizard. You’d spend twenty minutes typing commands like “open door,” “look at tree,” and “ask raccoon about cheese,” only to suddenly fall off a cliff because you stood one pixel too far to the left. The games didn’t merely challenge you. They quietly observed your suffering like Victorian ghosts hosting a game show.
And yet, somehow, they were magical. King’s Quest VI felt like a fairy tale written by someone who hid riddles inside every soup bowl, while Space Quest turned deep space into a cosmic landfill run by sarcastic aliens and malfunctioning vending machines. Then there was Leisure Suit Larry, which approached romance with the confidence of a man wearing polyester in a hurricane. Sierra games had a very specific energy: equal parts imagination, punishment, and absolute confidence that children in 1991 could somehow figure out obscure logic involving rubber chickens, invisible staircases, and a jar of mint jelly. Against all odds, we loved them for it.
The Nex Playground is basically what happens when a handheld console dreams big, skips its morning coffee, and decides it can be “everything at once.” It’s small, it’s portable, and it tries to pack in more features than a Swiss Army knife on a sugar rush. Retro gaming? Check. Modern-ish emulation? Check. Random button combos that make you question reality? Double check.
Holding it feels like gripping a tiny arcade in your hands—one that may or may not spontaneously remind you why you thought playing 2000s flash games on a touchscreen was a good idea. The games are a mix of charmingly nostalgic and “wait, this exists?” weirdness, which is perfect if you enjoy both discovering hidden gems and mildly panicking over whether the console will survive the next firmware update. The Nex Playground: it’s quirky, chaotic, and capable of turning a five-minute session into an existential dive into gaming history.
Seattle’s retro gaming scene is basically a treasure hunt disguised as a coffee-fueled lifestyle. It’s where flannel-wearing collectors, caffeine-addled speedrunners, and nostalgia historians roam the aisles of dusty game shops like archeologists hunting for buried cartridges. Somewhere between Pike Place and a Side Street arcade, you’ll find people debating the superiority of NES controllers while sipping $6 lattes, all with the intensity of a Seahawks game.
The city has enough retro game stores, conventions, and collector meetups to make you think it’s secretly powered by a giant SNES in a basement somewhere. Local arcades still glow with CRT screens and the comforting hum of pinball machines, while garage sales offer the occasional jackpot—sometimes literally, if someone left a working Neo Geo in a box. In Seattle, retro gaming isn’t just a hobby; it’s a lifestyle, a mild obsession, and an excuse to justify owning more plastic than IKEA.
Seattle is the city that looks like it was designed by a lovechild of a coffee bean and a cloud. Its skyline is perpetually flirting with fog, the Space Needle looks like it’s silently judging your life choices, and somehow everyone carries an umbrella even when it’s only lightly misting. It’s a place where you can sip a $7 oat milk latte while arguing passionately about the best local IPA, all while contemplating if your raincoat doubles as formalwear.
The city prides itself on being “outdoorsy,” which mostly means hiking up hills that make your legs question their loyalty to your body, then bragging about it on Instagram while your dog gives you the side-eye. Traffic exists in a parallel dimension where time stretches like taffy, and the Seahawks can cause citywide emotional whiplash in a single Sunday. Seattle is a mix of stunning natural beauty, artisanal everything, and a mild existential dread delivered with a drizzle—and somehow, people love it anyway.
Gaming Off the Grid is the YouTube channel for people who think “retro” means more than just pixelated graphics—it’s a lifestyle, a philosophy, and occasionally a small fire hazard from all the old consoles stacked in one room. The channel dives into obscure, rare, and often hilariously niche gaming hardware and software that most of us didn’t even know existed, let alone wanted to buy… until we watched a video and suddenly feel morally obligated to hunt it down.
Watching Gaming Off the Grid is like touring a museum curated by a slightly obsessive, very enthusiastic friend who keeps whispering, “Wait, you have to see this weird thing I found in 1987!” Expect a mix of awe, nostalgia, and occasional “why does this even exist?” moments, delivered with just enough humor to make you laugh while your wallet quietly panics.
King’s Quest: A Knight to Remember is a loving throwback to a time when adventure games assumed you were curious, patient, and emotionally prepared to be outsmarted by a mouse. It drops you into a fairytale kingdom where every screen is a hand-painted storybook and every puzzle politely asks, “Have you tried absolutely everything except the obvious solution yet?” It’s whimsical, charming, and occasionally convinced that logic is more of a suggestion than a rule.
You play as Graham, a would-be hero whose greatest weapons are curiosity, kindness, and an impressive tolerance for trial and error. Instead of slaying everything in sight, the game rewards you for thinking, exploring, and occasionally making choices that define what kind of knight you become. It’s less about reflexes and more about poking the environment until it gives up its secrets. King’s Quest: A Knight to Remember feels like curling up with a clever bedtime story that sometimes pauses to ask you to solve a riddle before turning the page.
