![]() ![]() Again, it seemed like madness actually having to move your hands up and down the neck to hit the fifth button felt like a good way to get wanker's cramp. Once again, the house rang with the plunks and wails of missed notes, but it never stopped being fun, even when I was having to duct-tape bags of frozen peas to my arms to stop them seizing up.Īnd when Guitar Hero II came along, well, obviously it was time to gird our loins, grow enormous beards and move up to Hard difficulty. And when the time came for us to move up to Medium difficulty, it seemed like an impossible task I'd gotten so used to only using the first three buttons, my pinky finger was an atrophied pork scratching stuck on the end of my hand with Pritt Stick. Guitar Hero became one of those staples of our weekly manly get-togethers along with lifting weights and talking about chicks. ![]() So while we'd all stand up there holding undersized, squeaky Fisher-Price plastic guitars as you'd hold a small, yappy dog, we could at least close our eyes and pretend we were on stage with Joan Jett (holding a small, yappy dog). Its triumph was in following the philosophy that if you're going to make a game designed to humiliate the player, the least you can do is have some decent music in it. And once we'd reached the point where the game wasn't yelling at us all the time for sucking so much-that is, sucking at the game, not sucking each other's dicks or anything-it was a lot of fun. It all began when I had some colleagues were around a friend's house for completely heterosexual reasons and we broke out Guitar Hero I on Easy mode in celebration of our manliness and our complete lack of desire to fondle scrotums. But I take all of that with good grace, because we both know that the promise of simulated rock-stardom would always bewitch the pasty, nebbish fantasists that are gaming's core demographic. Sometimes it's been a good and loyal friend sometimes it's bent me over the furniture and whaled on my ass with a steak tenderizer. ![]()
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