freakin’ enough of gritty urban themed games!

Change everything that’s grey into blue.
From now on, everyone wears red shoes.
Make everything happen at midday or sunset.
Replace gun textures with banana textures.
Turn all cars into pink convertibles that wobble and only do 15mph.
If you get 100 of anything, a little tune plays.
Instead of saying “crew” say “your buddies.”
Instead of saying “hood” say “zone.”
Make the female characters something other than prostitutes.
Make the black characters something other than drug dealers.

BLUE SKY IN GAMES campaign (thanks, monty and andrew v)

Comments

blogging non-tech-type people stories

bouncer cook waiter photoblog for gypsies, taxi drivers, and prostitutes ( memepool and boingboing )

dan simmons’ fiction

“I came back for my own purposes,” said the Time Traveler, looking around my booklined study. “I chose you to talk to because it was . . . convenient. And I don’t want you to do a goddamned thing. There’s nothing you can do. But relax . . . we’re not going to be talking about personal things. Such as, say, the year, day, and hour of your death. I don’t even know that sort of trivial information, although I could look it up quickly enough. You can release that white-knuckled grip you have on the edge of your desk.” I tried to relax. “What do you want to talk about?” I said. “The Century War,” said the Time Traveler. I blinked and tried to remember some history. “You mean the Hundred Year War? Fifteenth Century? Fourteenth? Sometime around there. Between . . . France and England? Henry V? Kenneth Branagh? Or was it . . .” “I mean the Century War with Islam,” interrupted the Time Traveler. “Your future. Everyone’s.” He was no longer smiling. Without asking, or offering to pour me any, he

my.bicycle

Search This Blog