A mutant spa day with murder-bots, glitter guts, and way too many guns. It’s stupid. It’s loud. It’s beautiful. I saw a flaming moose once. 10/10 vacation.

Feels like a VHS war dream with extra gore. Old school, full throttle, and deeply satisfying.

They mocked my hat. They stole my teddy. I nationalized the bakery and cried into my cigar. Ay caramba.

She’s back. They’re all back. I came for Moxxi, stayed for the boomsticks. Coop madness in high definition.

Played as Krieg. Screamed at the moon. Shot a guy with bees. Visited Moxxi “for science.” Pandora, I missed you.

Shoot a gun that shoots guns while your friend dies yelling. Chaos. Loot. Screaming. It’s Borderlands, baby!

Aliens, bullets, bad decisions. Co-op chaos in a B-movie nightmare. So dumb. So good. Play it loud, scream louder.

A city of ghosts, a man with no home. Niko drives through regret, radio humming, phone ringing too late. GTA IV aches where other games just explode.

Snow falls. Fists fly. He growls, I sigh. Beneath frost and fury, a bond is born—with biceps, with madness, with me watching thirstily from the shadows. Merry Batmas.

Came for nostalgia, stayed for the boomstick. Quake II still slaps harder than most modern shooters. Don’t think. Just frag.