HATE BOX Xbox One Special IS HERE!!!!! Matt Reynolds has gone too far this time, as he takes a tongue-in-cheek look at the Xbox One reveal. Matt’s opinions are his own, and therefore correct…
Don Matrix and the Cult of Mediocrity
So, after all the waiting, the anticipation, the moist brows and damp panties; Microsoft have finally unveiled their bright new hope for the next generation of games machines. Speculation has been mounting for weeks as to the name of the former Project Durango. Would it be Xbox Fusion? Xbox Infinity? Xbox 720? Xbox Loop? Or as the refined, devastatingly handsome chaps at Low Fat Gaming predicted; just plain old Xbox?
The wait was over. Out popped Tom Cruise’s mentally impaired twin brother and guilty Cruise family secret; The Man With More LFG Nicknames Than Cameron ™, breaking hearts and hymens since 1964 – Mr. Don Mattrick. Or Don Matrix. Or Don Matricide. Looking about as excited as if he were attending his own parents’ funeral; The Man With The Golden Personality finally revealed to us the identity of the new big boy in town:
Xbox (There can be only/I am the chosen) One.
Hang on one god-damned cotton-picking minute – XBOX ONE? What bright spark thought that one up? Evidently someone who couldn’t spare a minute to type the phrase into Google and see what would pop up – a shiny photo of the original fatty boom-boom Xbox. Nice ONE! Any of the above mentioned names would have been better than this – as fucking stupid as some of them sounded at the time, compared to this they are a work of creative genius. I can only speculate that in the meeting dealing with naming the console, Steve Ballmer leapt onto the table and squealed ‘Let’s name the fucking thing after how many goddamn units its going to shift once the public catches a whiff of this reveal event!’.
Nice ONE Ballmer.
So, the ‘event’. Or as I like to call it; ‘Microsoft Pulling Their Panties to One Side; Bending Over and Spreading For Sony’. What we were ‘treated’ to was a seemingly endless parade of slightly disheveled men in too-big suits, who had forgotten to get their shirts tucked in by their wives/mummies/parole officers. The words ‘TV’ and ‘television’ were mentioned more than at the National Soap Awards, closely followed by the word ‘sport’. Men grinned the vacant grins of henpecked husbands and playground pests, as they enthused lovingly about all things sport, television, sport, tv, sport and televised sport. A woman in a too-big suit with too-big hair revealed that no, the Xbox One was not actually a 1980s Betamax player; it was in fact a watercooler. Glad we cleared that ONE up.
Ten thousand sports games later we saw Forza Motorsport 5 looking bang tidy; and the game we all thought was Alan Wake but was actually…no, I give up – I’ve no fucking clue what it is. Bearded god-king Stephen Spielberg appeared as an enormous omnipotent backdrop to reveal he’s been stuck in a room playing Pong for the last thirty five years, going some way to explain why the majority of his film output is seemingly assembled in a 1920s speakeasy by booze-crazed herons. He shockingly announced he’s working on – television. Nice ONE, Spielberg. Kubrick would be proud.
Last up – ITS ONLY BLOODY CALL OF DUTY! In an astounding move that had everyone both at the event and in living rooms around the world weeping tears of unsurpassed emotion; Infinity Ward revealed they now have Fish AI(tm) and a big, slobbering dog that will inevitably end up being unceremoniously shivved in the throat by a dusky terror-man come the game’s climax. We all wondered where Peter Molyneux had got to – turns out he had imprisoned the Infinity Ward team inside the Curiosity Cube, whispering Grima-Wormtongue-like into their ears as they dreamed the fever dreams of men long devoid of independent thought.
And that was it. With a promise that actual games that real people want to play were coming at E3, Matrix and his dead-eyed cultists disappeared in a cloud of asphyxiating black smoke and the terrible sounds of Ballmer’s thundering laughter. Or at least they would have; if they weren’t all so terribly fucking dull.
Nice ONE (and only).