From the archives of yonder years, I’ve dug out a horror that I’d created back in 2002. My one and only attempt at making techno music resulted in a determined effort to make the single most godawful piece of utter crap I possibly could. My logic was that if I didn’t have the talent to make something good, I’d use my skills to make something mind-numbingly terrible.

I’m going to call that mission a resounding success.

Obi-Wan Water Mix (By the Sea-Side)

I seem to recall masquerading the atrocity as some apparently bootleg Nine Inch Nails demo track, and uploaded it to a multitude of Usenet sites (this was the days before the prevalence of BitTorrent). Whether or not anyone was fooled into downloading it is anyone’s guess, but I like to think that at least one NIN fan out there was left disappointed by my shenanigans.

So in the latest crazy news, those wacky Japanese have done it again and this time found a way to create artificial meat out of human feces. Disturbing mental imagery aside, I’d somehow pictured a giant, steampunk-esque machine accepting trays of freshly-laid bricks in one end, disappearing along a conveyor belt inside a sinister cloud of steam, with plates of bacon emerging from the other side. I doubt this is actually the case, however, and it’s likely for the best.

Apparently it’s largely composed of protein extracted from “sewage mud”, and any harmful bacteria present are destroyed by the heat used in the conversion process. While I can respect the impressive potential value in artificially-created meat — which tastes a lot like beef, apparently — I can’t honestly see this one taking off any time soon, given its… origins. The creators display a remarkable, blissful naiveté, however, with this amusing quote from the article:

“Professor Ikeda understands the psychological barriers that need to be surmounted knowing that your food is made from human feces. They hope that once the research is complete, people will be able to overlook that ugly detail in favor of perks like environmental responsibility, cost and the fact that the meat will have fewer calories.”

It’s made from shit, but hey, it’ll help you lose weight and you’ll be saving the planet.

If this is the future, I think I’ll become a vegetarian.

So this is it, I’m finally here, the last day of my beloved twenties; a decade which has been filled with both ups and downs, countless foolish chicanery, and plenty of life lessons which I’m surprised I’ve managed to get this far without learning sooner. I certainly don’t feel as old as I’d expect to at the doorstep of a new decade, but perhaps that’s due to the fact that I’m still going to be the same relentlessly irreverent, consistently absurd person I’ve always been — time be damned, I’m not about to grow up any time soon, though I’m most certainly grateful for the wisdom life’s taught me thus far.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an excellent new idea which involves an energy drink shot, some toast, and a few other ingredients.

This is going to be great, I just know it. :3

As a break from all the energy drink reviews I’ve been posting recently — and there are more to come, I’m afraid, as my fridge is loaded with numerous other brands waiting for the literary chopping block — I’m going to mention a game I’ve tried a few times in the past but only recently was able to really get into, that being Dwarf Fortress. For those not in the know, the game simulates a colony of dwarves — the kind of Tolkien-esque bearded, ale-swilling, axe-wielding, gold-mining creatures that anyone even remotely familiar with high-fantasy settings will be all-too-familiar with. The game creates a randomly-generated world — populating it with civilizations, cultures, heroes, history — and then allows the player’s initial party of seven to choose an unclaimed spot in the wilderness, and “strike the earth”.

What sounds simple is, in fact, possibly the single most absurdly complex game in existence today. The survival of your dwarven band must be managed at every level, from building a militia to defend from goblins and hostile beasts of the wild, to managing farms, kitchens and breweries to keep the workers fed and happy. Thankfully, the load is somewhat eased by the dwarves’ ability to think for themselves and take care of their needs provided adequate provisions are made — rather than telling Athel Rursibrek to dig a tunnel or craft a table, you simply assign the job to be done and the most appropriately-skilled member of your team will take up the task when not doing anything more important.

While this may not seem overly-complex, the sheer depth and intricacy of every aspect of the game is frankly staggering. Dwarves injured in combat can suffer internal bleeding from broken bones, furniture or trade goods can be crafted from literally dozens of different materials with engravings of things, people or places the craftsmen enjoy or have seen, fluid mechanics simulate the movement of water or lava through pits, lakes or channels, and the personalities of each dwarf are radically different — my expedition’s leader, Sodel Etostcerol (“Sodel Containedlens”), likes galena nickel, crystal opal, yak hoof, crosses, thrones, and mules for their stubbornness. She is impervious to the effects of stress, but rarely happy or enthusiastic and occasionally given to procrastination. That’s about a twentieth of the information provided on the page detailing her appearance, personality, thoughts and feelings.

Unfortunately, all this complexity comes at a cost — not only is the game’s learning curve so steep it practically bends backwards, but the actual configuration or inclusion of graphics packs — the game is ASCII text by default, much like the classic roguelike games of yore — is a serious headache. This kind of barrier to entry both discourages casual gamers, and fortifies the game’s often-elitist fanbase — I myself have been trying to play the game for some time now, but the lack of up-to-date tutorials and frustratingly archaic configuration were too discouraging, not to mention the sheer confusion of being given control of a colony and not being properly told where to begin. Fortunately, a solution has arisen to solve these problems.

The aptly-named Lazy Newb Pack is exactly what every uncertain newcomer to the game would desire; a simple front-end GUI provides configuration options and easy installation of graphics packs, as well as a number of add-on tools to make playing the game easier, and an associated series of video tutorials runs a beginner through the basics, from configuring and starting the game, to creating a new world and making a well-constructed fortress, explaining the process in great detail along the way to ease the passage through the initially daunting learning curve. The process has become easy enough that any gamers could likely get a grip on the basics and slowly expand into the more advanced aspects of the game, though it’s still an experience I’d recommend only to those willing to put serious concentration, focus, and dedication into what amounts to an incredibly deep gaming experience.

If you’ve been put off by the game’s difficulty, lack of decent up-to-date tutorials, outdated methods of configuration, or simply find the concept appealing and feel like giving it a go, I strongly recommend trying the Lazy Newb Pack and watching the video tutorial series. Just remember: losing is fun!

Flavour:
Aftertaste:
Caffeine:
Value:
Overall:

A few months ago, I reviewed a surprisingly good — albeit thoroughly gimmicky — energy shot called the Health Energy Potion, appropriately coloured and bottled in a cute, potion-esque container in order to appeal to the basement-dwelling nerds among us. While the price tag is higher than one might expect for a mere energy shot, the value is made up in the sheer gimmicky appeal, the oh-so-brief divergence from reality that lets us believe we’re battle-scarred adventurers in need of alchemical aid.

Thanks to the magic of eBay, it’s now time for me to review its sibling, the Mana Energy Potion — a murky turquoise-green fluid which little resembles the ocean-blue bottles displayed on websites. While similar in composition to its crimson brethren, the Mana variant has a remarkably unusual feature which I’ve not seen in other energy drinks: namely, aside from the usual cocktail of caffeine, taurine and B-vitamins, there is also a worryingly-titled “enzyme blend” of amylase, lactase, cellulase, lipase, and protease.

Throwing caution to the wind, however — and blindly assuming that the contents are most likely fit for human consumption, especially if the likes of Gandalf almost certainly chug through a dozen of these each day — it’s time to uncork the beast.

Firstly, the smell is at once appealing and troubling in equal measures; a largely citrus scent covers an odour not entirely dissimilar from the cleaning fluids one might find in a janitor’s closet. Briefly concerned that there could have been a horrible mix-up and I’m about to swallow a mouthful of antifreeze, it’s time for the taste-test.

An initial taste shows a sharp, almost acrid flavour barely masked by a heavy presence of sweeteners. Thankfully, the flavour — while somewhat jarring — dissipates almost instantly. Chugging the rest down, my suspicions are confirmed; a biting, almost apple-like flavour clings to the back of the throat for mere moments before subtly dissipating into little more than a sweet echo. More disturbingly, however, the overall flavour still carries lingering overtones of strong chemical cleaning fluids, not entirely unpleasant in itself but significantly jarring due to the mental connections.

If this is the taste of wizardry, then I’ll keep my sword for now: while both expensive and gimmicky, the Mana Energy Potion manages only to provide a mildly unpleasant experience, and one I’d sooner not repeat.