EP Review: Katamari Damacy

A video game by Keita Takahashi.
Reviewed by Stephen Eley.

A video game by Keita Takahashi.
Reviewed by Stephen Eley.
Rated R. Contains strong religious themes, graphic violence, and aggressive Zen.
It was Christmas Eve and that nasty, strung-out feeling of anticipation clotted the air like a cheap deodorizer. I hate Christmas the most–all that insincere, pious yap about “peace on
earth, goodwill towards men.” I was cruising down the expressway, on my way back from dismantling an illegal manger scene someone had erected at the river park, keeping an eye out
for graffiti, you know–“Where will _you_ spend eternity?” or “Buddha lives!”–that kind of crap, spray-painted on underpasses right where impressionable schoolchildren could see it. The last rays of the setting sun were painting the highway a faint rose when I spotted a broken-down van with the metal outline of a stylized fish just above the back bumper. The short hairs crawled up the back of my neck. Them fish guys have been some of my worst busts.
This seems to be the week for annoying problems:
Rated PG. Contains violence, alcohol, and gratuitous time travel.
“‘He was the most skillful gambler, and the nerviest, fastest, deadliest man with a six-gun I ever saw.’ Do you know who said that, Doctor?”
He coughed politely and sat in a nearby chair. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, I’d be more interested in who they were talking about.”
She laughed softly, and seemed to turn her attention to him fully for the first time. “Wyatt Earp said those words about you, Doctor. At your funeral, I suspect, though I don’t know for sure.”
Brodie approached the line of scrimmage and both sides of the field erupted. The red-robed fans in the visitor’s stands surged like a crimson wave, swaying in unison as they began the Rite of Interception. They stamped their feet against the aluminum bleachers, chanting as they drew gleaming blades across the bellies of countless doomed rattlesnakes. Their blood spilled, the snakes were then hurled onto the field. The rain of reptiles sounded like bacon burning in a skillet as the animals protested their own sacrifice.

A film by Michael Bay.
Reviewed by Jonathon Sullivan.
Rated G. Contains intense maternal nagging and disturbing chorework. May not be suitable for some adults.
“Jessy, put that away and come eat breakfast. You won’t get anything useful done on an empty stomach.” The voice was the usual gender-neutral computer-generated drone, and yet it sounded different to her this morning. Obviously, the tone modifiers Gregory had suggested were working, too. That was going to be a selling point for everyone yelping about the dehumanization of home life. In a few generations, they’d be able to personalize the voice, maybe even to customer order.
Drawn by the sound of the propellers, the lunchtime crowd looked to the sky. An airship passed over the skyscrapers, plumes of black, virus-laden smoke spewing behind it. Traffic below stopped. People paused on the sidewalks and watched the cloud sink slowly towards them.
Rated G. Suitable for world-dominating clone armies of all ages.
Einstein was getting old now. All of them. Not so old that he was past it, but you had to wonder. When our troops liberated the Spemann Lab complex in 1945, the Einsteins had been just five years old. The Government had done the humanitarian thing and brought them back home. Eventually, someone had leaked the information and slowly, slowly, public pressure and outrage had grown. The big hush-hush operation our government had mounted was shut down and the Einsteins were released – or rather, they were integrated into society in a humanitarian manner. That was the wording the government press releases used. Two hundred and fifty is a lot of Einsteins.
I saw nothing when I looked through the eyepiece Franz handed me and told him so.
“Of course not,” said Franz. “Right now, the time sight is set to look into the future. From this point in time, the future doesn’t exist yet, not in any meaningful way, so it can’t be seen.”