Windows 8, And Other Things I Don’t Want (Even For Free)


This week news broke that Microsoft is considering going free-to-use. Like WinRar, except with less guilt.

Once I’d finished laughing/scoffing (loffing), I got to thinking about all the other things I wouldn’t want, even for free. And just to avoid getting fired, I made sure they were all (tenuously) related to gaming.

Some of them may surprise you, so be sure to let me know in the comments if you agree/disagree; inflammatory language is welcome.

Windows 8

So, since nobody in a stable state of mind would actually purchase Windows 8, Microsoft are thinking about giving it away for free.

That is, if you don’t mind in-OS advertising and using Bing.

I’m not convinced. Every time I see an ad on the internet it’s for a mail-order bride from the Eastern Bloc or some kind of pharmacological penis aid. I don’t know what the hell Google Ads thinks of me, but that seems like it would make things a little awkward when I’m showing photos to the family or doing a presentation.

All this is besides the fact that I wouldn’t contaminate my PC with that joke of an operating system if Bill Gates himself hand-delivered it and asked super nicely.

Whatever That Duke Nukem Game Is

So there’s been a huge amount of drama lately around a new Duke Nukem title that was apparently just randomly coded without any concern as to how the hell it was going to be released.

You know, considering the people that made it don’t actually own the rights to do so.

The real question here however, is do we even care? It’s a freakin’ Duke Nukem RPG. You’re basically taking a franchise protagonist with less character development than Pacman, and building an RPG around it.

What the hell are you going to do? Go to a strip club and collect lap dances? Make 20 chauvinistic remarks in under 5 minutes? I’m having nightmares about levelling up “ass-kicking” and equipping enchanted bubblegum.

If Gearbox’s lawsuit can make sure this game never sees the light of day, I think we’d all be much better off.

Yeah, we get it. You're all out of kickass gum. Could this actually suck any harder?
Yeah, we get it. You’re all out of kickass gum. Could this actually suck any harder?

Every Game Ever

Sounds appealing, right? Imagine, if you can, an infinite hard drive with every game in existence (and every game which will exist) – regardless of platform. For free.

Now picture this: a bedraggled, poverty-stricken shell of a man who smells like a herd of cats peed on him three years ago. His eyes are empty and hollow, his bones jut through his skin and his claw-like hands tremble. He cradles a battered Xbox controller, a single tear tracing down his cheek.

That man is you. If you’re a woman reading this, the fact that you end up as a man should be some indication of how horrific this will be. Imagine a backlog that can never be tackled, a bottomless well of possibility that can never be tapped, a lifetime of disappointment and self-loathing.

Take heed, young gamer, every game ever will kill you faster than a lifetime supply of crystal meth.

A Lifetime WoW Subscription

I’ve been carefully (and successfully) avoiding World of Warcraft my entire life. That picture I painted above? This is basically the same thing, minus the spontaneous gender switching.

I’ve written a lot about video game addiction in the past, and I suspect it’s because I’ve always felt a little afraid of it, like I’m teetering on the edge. Standing on that particular cliff, looking down into an abyss of zero productivity and failed relationships, I can see Arthas smiling up at me from the darkness, beckoning.

Nope. Nopenopenope.

Yeah, he looks super trustworthy. And what the hell does that caption mean?
Yeah, he looks super trustworthy. And what the hell does that caption mean?

A Foot Massage From Dane Remendes

I’ve gotten the opportunity to hang out with Dane on several occasions; he’s an awesome guy and we get on well. Except for one thing.

The man can’t take his eyes off my feet. I tend to wear open shoes when I can get away with it, and even when I don’t I can feel his eyes burning a hole through the leather, mentally undressing my size 12 titans.

Look, don’t get me wrong. I’ve thought about it. Dane’s hands are slender and babysoft, and I get the impression the man knows his way around a sole. I bet it’d be like walking on air after.

But I wouldn’t want to complicate our friendship like that; if Pulp Fiction taught us anything, it’s that a foot massage is never just a foot massage.

So I’m sorry Dane – not even if it was free.