Five unforeseen consequences of the imminent gaming journalism apocalypse (and how to prepare)


As you may have noticed (and if you didn’t, get out of here you filthy casual), NAG Online was brought to its digital knees recently by an army of spambots intent on forcing you to work from home while simultaneously increasing your libido, two concepts seemingly at odds with one another.

Regardless, what you may not know is that this is the beginning of the end for video game journalism. I don’t like to tell people this, but I am by night a Level 47 FutureWizard and three-time recipient of the Golden Hat of Total Legitimacy Award for the Practical Seer.

What that means for you common folk is that I have seen the future, and it is dire. I will likely be stripped of my wizard-sleeves for this, but I feel indebted to you, NAG Online readership. I owe you this.

In this special column I will be sharing with you not only what the future holds, but what you can do to prepare – if anything.

Games are now R700 lucky packets

Without the gaming marketing machine, quality control isn’t a thing anymore.

Reviews, forums, podcasts and other forms of discussion dictate the quality of games – in the land of the blind, the one-eyed FPS may still sell a few million copies.

You might think you have a safe bet going with a known publisher, but that’s where you’re wrong. No longer restrained by the shackles of customer feedback, the juggernauts of the gaming industry ditch their marketing campaigns, fire their developers and release the next Call of Duty as a side-scrolling 8-bit shooter.

The newest Tony Hawk game turns out to be a golf simulator, and one in every three copies of Battlefield 5 is Hatoful Boyfriend.

How can you prepare?

Delano was right this whole time. We need to go indie.

Twitch chat becomes the new mode of communication

With gaming websites gone, the forums go with it. Comments and online discussions are no longer moderated as whenever a group of gamers organise and attempt to establish a community, it is quickly overrun with spambots and pop-ups advertising blow-up pigeons and rhino horn condoms.

Most wither and die in the face of unrelenting pressure to increase their penis size, but those that do survive the onslaught quickly devolve into a Wild West of unmoderated communication systems.

Emojis come to replace genuine emotional affectation and a primitive language forms around different pronunciations of the word “Kappa”.

Gabe Newell is slaughtered for food and a monument is erected in his honour. Years later, Half-Life 3 is released by Ubisoft as a text-based dungeon crawler, which triggers the biggest global conflict since World War II or Meek Mill vs Drake.

How can you prepare?

Learn your Twitch chat emoji codes, and learn them well. They will probably save your life one day Kappa

In the future, Kappars are the only accepted currency.
In the future, Kappars are the only accepted currency.

Everybody’s penis is bigger

Penis enlargement spam is relentless, and most of the people who can afford the procedures either cave to the pressure or have no room for growth anyway.

This results in a natural selection process whereby previous class systems disappear and the world’s male populace is divided into two distinct groups: the Hungus and the Nungus.

While the rest of the population insists that nobody cares now and never did before, the Hungus and the Nungus engage in a war that lasts several decades.

Surprisingly, the Nungus win, and find that in the meantime the fairer sex had established their own economic, political and legal systems, built an urban sprawl in the clouds and exiled the male population to fight amongst themselves.

Unable to reproduce, the Nungus’ victory is short-lived.

How can you prepare?

That stuff actually works. Get your oversized schlong now before it’s not cool anymore.

Parental smug grows

After a long couple of decades, parents the world over finally feel vindicated in telling their children that “writing about those silly games is not a real job”.

Across the world, video game journalists realise they have no marketable skills and quickly exhaust their meagre savings. They join together to form a roving band of homeless nerds who lament the “good old days” and generally get in everybody’s way.

Meanwhile, parental smug forms at an alarming rate, shrouding urban centres in an unprecedented smug cloud rumoured to be four times as dense as that which formed at the height of the Prius’ popularity.

Those unable to make it out of the cities in time are enveloped by the smug, turning to Veganism and Crossfit overnight. Alternating between three-hour Crossfit sessions, hoarding pumpkin seeds and aggressive Tumblr blogging, this group quickly dies of malnutrition.

How can you prepare?

Tell them you had a change of heart and are now an accountant or a lawyer or something. Tell them you have no car and ride a 10-speed mountain bike to work because you’re “frugal”.

Well excuse me for caring about the ENVIRONMENT, Mom. GEEZ.
Well excuse me for caring about the ENVIRONMENT, Mom. GEEZ.

DLC intensifies

Not content to simply slap an absurd price tag on a buggy version of Snake, publishers begin to aggressively look for opportunities to include DLC.

Some notable examples from the middle 21st century include Battlefield 7 famously charging players to go into the options menu (and binding every action to Q by default), Hatoful Boyfriend: Dove in the Shitty charging players for pigeons, doves and Hatofuls (what Hatofuls are is revealed in the fifth instalment) and the worst of the offenders, Borderlands 4 has Claptrap talk non-stop in the background unless you pay to turn it off.

How can you prepare?

If we all stop buying DLC immediately, they might forget what it is by the time the apocalypse rolls round .