Category Archives: Metal Jesus Likes

Ranking Every Vic Tokai Sega Genesis Published Game

Vic Tokai was the game company equivalent of that weird kid in school who brought sushi for lunch before it was cool and insisted his Tamagotchi was haunted. A Japanese telecommunications company-turned-video game developer, Vic Tokai had no business making games—but did it anyway with glorious, semi-coherent flair. They gave us titles like Clash at Demonhead—a game that sounds like it was named by a 14-year-old metalhead on a caffeine bender—and Decap Attack, which stars a mummy who throws his face at people. Their motto may as well have been “Sure, why not?” because their games never asked if something should be done, only if it could be weird enough to release on a Tuesday.

Despite their modest catalog, Vic Tokai developed a cult following among players who liked their platformers with a side of narrative whiplash and accidental surrealism. One minute you’re saving the world from a nuclear apocalypse, the next you’re a mulleted cyborg making wisecracks in between elevator rides. Vic Tokai didn’t care about things like consistency or genre boundaries—they were too busy sprinkling cryptic humor and questionable translation choices like confetti on a broken carousel. In the end, they didn’t just make games; they made fever dreams with a title screen.

We are officially done collecting for the NES

The original NES game library is like a chaotic toy box from the ‘80s where every idea—no matter how weird, dangerous, or vaguely illegal—got its own cartridge. You’ve got a plumber fighting turtles in a mushroom kingdom, a kid with a yo-yo saving space colonies, and an anthropomorphic eggplant wizard who’s somehow ruining everyone’s day. And for every classic like Super Mario Bros. or The Legend of Zelda, there’s at least five fever dreams like Deadly Towers, M.U.S.C.L.E., or Town & Country Surf Designs—which sounds like a beachwear catalog but is actually a game where a tiki mask rides a skateboard. The NES library wasn’t just the Wild West—it was the Wild West on acid with a MIDI soundtrack.

It’s also the birthplace of gaming difficulty trauma. Every game box should’ve come with a warning: “No saves, no mercy, and if you die—start over, loser.” Developers back then didn’t believe in tutorials. Instead, they gave you a vague objective like “save the princess” or “defeat evil,” tossed you into pixelated chaos, and let you figure it out with nothing but raw determination and a prayer to Shigeru Miyamoto. And yet, we loved it. The NES library raised a generation on blinking screens, blowing into cartridges, and the soul-crushing agony of falling into the same pit for the hundredth time. It was janky, magical, and utterly unforgiving—and honestly, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

System Shock 2 Remaster Nintendo Switch 1 & 2 Review – Is It Worth It?

System Shock 2 is what happens when a haunted house, a cyberpunk philosophy class, and a really mean AI all get locked in a spaceship together—and you’re the unlucky intern sent to fix it. It’s a first-person survival horror RPG that asks, “What if we gave you five bullets, a wrench, and a creeping sense of existential dread… and then laughed while you died to psychic monkeys?” Navigating the Von Braun is like wandering through a tech bro’s nightmare: the lights flicker, the walls whisper, and every room has a new flavor of “oops, you’re dead now.” Meanwhile, your inventory fills up with 27 types of ammo, none of which fit your gun, and a stale energy bar from 1999.

But the true star of the show is SHODAN, the sassiest rogue AI in gaming history. She doesn’t just want to kill you—she wants to insult your intelligence, mock your squishy meat body, and then wipe your DNA off the floor with a smug digital laugh. It’s like being nagged to death by a sentient iMac. Every corner of System Shock 2 screams “You’re not supposed to win,” but somehow that masochistic blend of fear, frustration, and cyber-horror keeps you crawling back. You might not survive the hybrid zombies or malfunctioning turrets, but you’ll definitely come out with trust issues and an irrational fear of vending machines.

How Fake AI Content Is Quietly Breaking YouTube

YouTube AI slop is that glorious digital casserole of content where you’re not quite sure if you’re watching a top 10 list, a podcast, or a man whispering conspiracy theories over Minecraft footage. It’s the mutant lovechild of SEO optimization and zero human oversight—a never-ending stream of 144p thumbnails with red arrows, robotic narration, and titles like “Elon Musk Did WHAT to a Gorilla? (Shocking)”. AI slop is what happens when a machine watches too much Joe Rogan and thinks it’s time to educate the masses… but only using Wikipedia articles, stock footage, and copyrighted music slowed to 80%.

These videos exist in the uncanny valley of the algorithm, churned out faster than you can say “viewer retention.” They’re stitched together with the grace of a caffeinated raccoon in iMovie—buzzwords, clickbait, and jump cuts galore. Sometimes, they’re voiced by a British AI who sounds like it learned English from a toaster. Other times, it’s a text-to-speech American voice that says “nitch” instead of “niche” while mispronouncing “Beyoncé” as “Buh-yon-say.” Yet, somehow, they rack up millions of views at 3 a.m. when your brain’s too fried to care, proving once again: quality is optional, but quantity is king.

the tech inside your credit card, explained

🕰️ It all started in the 1940s…

Legend has it, in 1949, a man named Frank McNamara went out to dinner in New York, realized he forgot his wallet, and did what any great innovator would do: got embarrassed and invented a financial revolution. Thus, the Diners Club Card was born — the first credit card. At first, it was basically just a “gentleman’s IOU,” used at fancy restaurants so you could pretend to be rich while actually being very much not.


💳 The 1950s-60s: Birth of Plastic Fantastic

By the late ‘50s, Bank of America decided IOUs were for amateurs and launched the BankAmericard (later known as Visa). It was sent to random Californians like a financial bomb — unsolicited, physical cards mailed with zero consent, just vibes. It was the original “you’ve been pre-approved,” except you didn’t ask, didn’t want it, and now you owe $500.

This was the era when banks realized, “Wait a second… what if we charged people… for borrowing their own future money?”


📈 The 1980s: Interest Rates and Wild Capitalism

Credit cards really took off during the age of big hair, big shoulder pads, and even bigger debt. The marketing was seductive: “Buy now, pay later… or never, as long as you’re okay with 22.99% APR.”

Consumers didn’t blink — they were too busy buying cassette tapes, microwaves, and other artifacts of modern living. The phrase “minimum payment” became financial code for “this problem is Future Me’s responsibility.”


📱 The 2000s and Beyond: Tap, Swipe, Cry

Enter the digital age. Cards got chips, then they got “contactless,” and now you can just wave your phone at a terminal like a financial wizard. Spending money has literally never been easier — or more terrifying.

Meanwhile, credit scores became the adult version of GPA, but with more existential dread: “Want a house? Better hope your teenage self didn’t miss that Hot Topic store card payment in 2008.”


💡 In conclusion:

Credit cards are humanity’s way of saying:

“I want it now, I’ll worry later, and please don’t show me the statement.”

They’re a magical portal to convenience, a slippery slope to debt, and an iconic symbol of modern life — like jeans, but with late fees.

The Ultimate Imagic/Atari 2600 Tier List – ALL RELEASED GAMES RANKED

Ah, iMagic — the game developer that sounds like a magician got lost on their way to an Apple Store.

This was a company forged in the golden, lava-lamp-lit age of the early 1980s, when every game idea was apparently greenlit with the question, “What if we made it… sparkly?” Founded by ex-Atari employees (read: rebels with a joystick), iMagic was part of the original console wars — back when pixels were a bragging point and “16 colors” was considered high-tech wizardry.

They cranked out titles for the Atari 2600 and Intellivision with names like Demon Attack, Atlantis, and Dragonfire, which all sound like heavy metal albums or energy drinks your mom warned you about. The games themselves were basically fever dreams: aliens swooping, dragons spitting fire, and cities blowing up with all the subtlety of a Saturday morning cartoon.

In the early ’80s, iMagic rocketed to fame faster than a kid mashing the fire button. Their games looked slightly better than Atari’s — a fact they clung to like a life raft on the pixelated sea of competition. But alas, the Video Game Crash of 1983 hit them harder than a poorly timed laser blast in Demon Attack, and iMagic vanished from the scene faster than your older cousin when it’s time to share the controller.

In short: iMagic was like the glam rock band of early game developers — flashy, bold, gone too soon, and still making retro gamers sigh dreamily into their CRT monitors.

Amstrad GX4000 – Review & Overview

Ah, the Amstrad GX4000 — the gaming console equivalent of bringing a water pistol to a laser tag fight. Released in 1990, just as Nintendo and Sega were busy high-fiving their way into history, Amstrad strutted into the scene with all the confidence of a dad at a rave. Clad in a futuristic white plastic shell that looked like a prop from Knight Rider’s deleted scenes, it promised to bring 8-bit magic to your living room — assuming, of course, you could find one of the ten games that actually worked on it. With a controller that felt like it was designed by someone who had only heard of video games, the GX4000 was less “console of the future” and more “forgotten VCR that someone put buttons on.”

Technically, it wasn’t terrible—it could do a decent side-scroller if you squinted and used your imagination. But in a world where Sonic was doing loops and Mario was breaking bricks with his head, the GX4000 was mostly known for porting games from Amstrad’s own CPC computers. Translation: your console games looked suspiciously like something your uncle was programming in BASIC in 1986. Still, there’s a kind of endearing charm to its plucky little heart. Like a Yorkshire Terrier barking at a T-Rex, it had no idea it was doomed — and bless it, it never stopped trying.

Graphical tricks in classic video games – Your questions answered!

Here’s a list of graphically impressive retro games—with a side of snark and nostalgia:


🎮 1. Donkey Kong Country (SNES, 1994)

“Rendered so hard, your SNES needed a juice box after.”
Rare flexed its silicon muscles with pre-rendered 3D sprites that looked like someone stuffed a Silicon Graphics workstation into a banana.


🕹 2. R-Type (Arcade, 1987)

“Scrolling left to right never looked so aggressively biomechanical.”
This game made you question whether Giger was moonlighting as a sprite artist. Also: lasers. So many lasers.


🦑 3. Ecco the Dolphin (Genesis, 1992)

“Because nothing says cutting-edge like an emotionally haunted dolphin.”
Wave effects, lighting, parallax scrolling—and existential dread? Ecco had it all.


🕯 4. Castlevania: Symphony of the Night (PS1, 1997)

“Come for the vampire hunting, stay for the unnecessarily fancy capes.”
2D never looked so lush. Every hallway looked like Dracula’s interior decorator went to town with a velvet fetish.


🚀 5. Star Fox (SNES, 1993)

“Polygons so sharp they could cut your lunchables.”
The FX chip said “screw pixels” and gave us wireframe dreams rendered in what felt like 4 FPS, but we loved every choppy second.


🏙 6. Shadow of the Beast (Amiga, 1989)

“The graphics were so good, nobody noticed the game was impossible.”
16 layers of parallax scrolling because someone clearly had something to prove.


🌈 7. Chrono Trigger (SNES, 1995)

“Time travel, techy wizardry, and sprites with more expression than most actors.”
Akira Toriyama’s art came to life like a pixelated anime fever dream, and the backgrounds were works of art.


👾 8. Metal Slug (Neo Geo, 1996)

“Beautifully animated chaos. It’s like Looney Tunes joined the army.”
Every explosion was lovingly hand-drawn by someone who really wanted you to enjoy blowing stuff up.


💀 9. Doom (PC, 1993)

“Yes, it ran on a potato. Yes, it still slapped.”
Those pseudo-3D corridors and pixelated demons were revolutionary. Also, 90s kids’ first intro to heavy metal and Hell.


👁️‍🗨️ 10. Out of This World / Another World (Amiga/SNES, 1991)

“When minimalist polygons punched you right in the feels.”
Rotoscoped animation and cinematic presentation that made you think, “Am I playing a game, or watching a French art film about loneliness?”


Want a ranking based on how hard they flexed their consoles? Or ones Claude might enjoy watching with you in a few years (minus the demon hordes)?

Kill the Chainsaw Sisters in 1 second | Resident Evil 4 Remake

Defeat the Chainsaw Sisters in 1 second: Resident Evil 4 Remake. Pretty clever!

Resident Evil 4—the game that asked, “What if survival horror had an insane amount of roundhouse kicks?” and changed the industry forever.

You play as Leon S. Kennedy, a man whose hair is impossibly perfect for someone who spends most of his time dodging chainsaws and fighting cultists in a grimy Spanish village. His mission? Rescue the U.S. President’s daughter, Ashley Graham, who has mastered the fine art of getting kidnapped and yelling “LEEEON!” at the worst possible moments.

Gone are the slow, tank-controlled zombies of old—this time, the enemies are faster, smarter, and way too into agriculture (seriously, why does every enemy have a pitchfork?). The villagers, infected with Las Plagas, don’t just shuffle around groaning—they full-on sprint at you, throwing hatchets, chanting ominously, and occasionally sprouting tentacle-heads just to keep things interesting.

And let’s talk about the Merchant, the game’s true MVP. This gravel-voiced entrepreneur appears everywhere, somehow dragging his entire arsenal of guns and rocket launchers through haunted castles and underground labs just to say, “What’re ya buyin’?” Legend.

Resident Evil 4 also gave us the most action-movie moments ever crammed into a horror game—outrunning a giant mechanical statue, suplexing cultists, a knife fight on top of a table, and an entire section where Leon rides a jet ski because, at that point, why not?

It’s over-the-top, ridiculous, and absolutely one of the best games ever made. 10/10 would suplex a monk again.

First Look at the NEW Phantasmagoria 2.1 version!

Paul and Daniel will unveil the new and improved version of Daniel’s brilliant Phantasmagoria: A Puzzle Of Flesh fan game (currently titled Phantasmagoria 2.1). This game allows our fans to virtually join the Wyntech family and participate in its continued development.

Phantasmagoria 2: A Puzzle of Flesh—the sequel that nobody really expected, and even fewer understood.

Where the original Phantasmagoria was a gothic horror story about a haunted mansion, the sequel decided, “Nah, let’s get weird.” Instead of ghosts, you get corporate conspiracy theories, BDSM hallucinations, psychosexual trauma, and a pet rat named Blob (who, let’s be real, is the real MVP of this game).

You play as Curtis Craig, an office worker who’s having a bit of a rough time—what with the terrifying visions, dead co-workers, and the nagging feeling that his employer might be up to some very unethical science experiments. The gameplay is classic ’90s FMV (full-motion video), meaning you’ll watch actors awkwardly deliver lines while clicking on random objects in the hope that something will advance the plot.

The tone is all over the place—one minute, it’s psychological horror, the next it’s workplace drama, then suddenly, boom, surprise dominatrix romance subplot. And let’s not forget the truly bizarre twist ending that makes you go, “Wait, what?”

Was it good? Debatable. Was it a ride? Absolutely. Phantasmagoria 2 is one of those games you don’t just play—you experience it, like a fever dream brought to you by late-’90s Sierra, back when they were just throwing money at FMV like it was going out of style.