Our ship once had a stowaway. I found him passed out in the bowels of the ship, right next to the poop deck. His name was Jed and he had shuffled aboard somewhere near the Milky Way. Jed was an old crusty fool who spoke monosyllabically and smelled like cashews. After a week with us, Jed accidentally got sucked out of the airlock, which he had inadvertently mistaken for an outhouse door. It was horrible. I haven’t been able to eat a cashew since.
Few games repulse, arouse, and excite quite like the awe-inspiring God of War III. Like the previous installments, God of War III is a kinetic, highly visceral experience where eyes are gouged, heads are yanked from necks, skulls are pummeled, and entrails paint the screen in explosions of gore.
And then there are the exposed boobs.
Sometimes when our ship is floating over, say, Uranus, I begin thinking about what might have been. I ask questions to myself like “What if I grew up in the 70’s and wanted to have a sex-change operation? Could I afford it? Or would I have to lop my dick off with a rusty shoehorn?” Thankfully, on one of our many scavenging missions, I was able to unearth a dandy little flick that answered all questions concerning the ups and downs of transsexual life during the decade that brought us afros, hairy bushes, and bell-bottomed pants. This little sex education oddity goes by the name of Let Me Die a Woman!