For a myriad of reasons, I can't really write any particular profane curse words here, but an approximation of my feelings on Birdcage, an anime as hell, "sword action shooting game", it would be something like, "this game is so ******* sick, like what the ****, how the **** can one game be so ******* stylish." I'm sure you can fill in the blanks of what words I wish I could use there, but if you'll allow me, I'd also like to take the time to actually talk about why Birdcage rules so much.

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The Nintendo Dual Screen! Or Nintendo DS, as it was actually known. There's a console that has practically no relevance to this site, except for right now, because of a game called Dementium: The Ward. For those that haven't heard of it, this is one of the incredibly few horror games available on the handheld console, nowadays a bit of a cult classic because who on earth thought it would be a good idea to do that. It was also pitched as a Silent Hill game, a point we'll come back to because the big thing here is that it's making its way to Steam later this month.

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GT-Abe gateway drug The Simpsons Hit & Run's status a thing people my age remember from their childhoods has earned it a strong modding community, and the latest export to come out of it is a Futurama total conversion designed to mirror an official expansion. It's predictably called Futurama: Hit & Run and has a demo out now.

For free, of course, so attempts to deploy the 'shut up and take my money' meme here are thoroughly misplaced. If you've already said it while reading that first paragraph, please submit to death by snu-snu. No wait, that makes it sound like I'm going to be the one doing the-

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Is that you, RPS readership? It's me, Edwin. I'm back from last week's unscheduled spell of Maw mastication, and regrettably, I still have possession of all my typing fingers. James was kind enough to do the round-up post in my absence, but the experience has clearly taken a toll, as he is now in India. James, if I fled to another country everytime the Maw ate a colleague I'd have run out of other countries to flee to. But hey, knock yourself out. It's not like there are any big brands getting fresh instalments this week. It's not like... oh good gravy.

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My understanding of 19th century medicine is roughly equivalent to my ability to describe the smell of the clouds on Jupiter. It's essentially 21st century medicine but minus painkillers and handsoap, right? All the surgeons looked like Clive Owen and were addicted to bath salts. Still, I do recall reading that there was a lot of competition for access to corpses.

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Sundays are for landing on a mysterious planet. At first, the surface seems barren, a dusty sheet of paper stretching towards the grey horizon. Does anything live here? Could anything live here? Is there anything here which can inform how I'm supposed to feel about it all? The emptiness is a feeling, but one can only deploy the world bleak so many times before starting to read it as ble-ack just to try and avoid dying of boredom. Then, the ground around you opens up. A great dark space into which you slide. Everything goes cold, dark, and wet. Suddenly, you're back among the stars in a flurry of movement. Adrian Edmondson's planet-sized head stares at you, licking its lips to get rid of leftover spittle. Well, there's two of you in the bleakness now.

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