GTA 5: It’s… ok…

GTA 5: It’s… ok…

I had fallen out of playing games for years until my mate Steve leant me his Playstation 2 along with a copy of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.

From that moment I was hooked again.  I missed food.  I played until 4am on work nights, figuring if I could learn to fly the damned plane (as “White Wedding” blasted through the speakers) around the airfield and land it again, that would compensate for how I’d be feeling getting up for work ina  couple of hours time.

I bought San Andreas again for the Xbox after I’d played GTA IV almost to death.

So it’s no real surprise, after 4 years and £170 million spent on making GTA V, that I’d place my first ever pre-order for a game.

It didn’t arrive on the day of release.  Getting over the disappointment of that, I survived to find that it did arrive the day after!

Because I’m an Idiot (Town Idiot, in fact, as I moved from my Village), the first thing I did was swap it for my old copy of GTA IV, took a pic, and uploaded it to Facebook pretending not to notice it was the wrong game until afterwards.  Hehehe.  I do sometimes think I’m funny – and not just in the head.

As everyone was laughing at my expense, I booted GTA V up in eager anticipation…

It takes AGES to install the content, too!

Finally getting to play, as you’ll have seen in a million other reviews, you’re dropped into a bank robbery where you have to escape the Police before the game jumps forward a few years and starts properly.

My ultimate hope was for the game to be a cross between IV and San Andreas, and on that score, it does seem to be spot on.

First impressions are that the target showing where you’re shooting isn’t really clear enough.

The ‘help text’ that pops up on screen (“Hold RT to touch the lapdancer with your hands” etc) is tiny!  I think everyone is assumed to be on benefits so they play games on their 128″ HD plasma-LCD-super TV, so text size doesn’t matter.  I work for a living, so can only afford an old 36″ CRT TV (widescreen!!), which means if I want to make out the ‘help text’ I have to jump off my couch and crouch near enough to the screen to read it, and even then guess what button the illustration is actually telling me to press.

This is A Pisser.

I’m sure once I’m used to the controls it won’t be a problem – but come on!  How about a way to at least increase font size?

The storyline is as engaging as ever (I’m not going to get into it, as other reviews will do a better job), and, as you’d expect, the radio stations and music are totally awesome!  With the older GTA games I’d often park up somewhere and just listen to the radio on the game, and you can be sure part 5 will be the same!

The vehicles seem to handle a little more realistically – the biggest change being that you can’t just ram another car out of teh way by holding the throttle, or you just get stuck.

So, it’s as expected (which isn’t a bad thing!), but with nothing so far that’s totally blown my head off.

I can’t see me going quite as mental over it as I did with San Andreas – but give it another week and that might change.

One thing I do know is that last week, my fiancee was off work ill.

Now, a week on, I’m still fine and dandy.  You can bet that this is the one bloody time I actually wouldn’t mind a few days off sick, but of course I’m not going to catch The Lurgy!

If I don’t come down with anything soon, I think I’ll have to book a day or two off work to have a proper play!

Have you played it yet?  What do you think?

KFC Complaint Letter

KFC Complaint Letter

Dear Kentucky Fried Chicken,

After resisting temptation whilst everyone else flocked to the brand new KFC that opened in Bromsgrove in July, we finally decided to give it a go tonight.

We were very hungry, and so opted to use the Drive Thru, carefully selecting a nice easy choice of the most popular meals that would be fast and pretty-much impossible for – and forgive me for my language here – even the most useless of staff to cock up.

Two Flaming Zinger box meals. They each contain a Zinger Burger, fries, two spicy wings, and a drink and side order of our choosing. I know you SHOULD know the contents of your own box meals, but my need to clarify this will become apparent.

Knowing side orders and drinks can be tricky to get right, we each asked for the same – Pepsi and corn on the cob. Ok? Two Flaming Zinger box meals, each with Pepsi and corn on the cob. Nice and easy.

We thought we’d risk things further (and this may have pushed things over the edge), and asked for two lots of BBQ sauce. I was pretty surprised to be charged 10p each for these, considering how you charge 300% more for what is essentially a can of Pepsi, but let this go as I eagerly looked forward to getting something quick and simple to eat.

Arriving at the final window, we were given the Pepsi’s and told to park up in the Orange Bay and they would bring the food over shortly. All ok so far – a bit strange that we literally just got the drinks. We noted that we were not given straws at this point, but didn’t realise this would turn out to be the same kind of taunting undertaken by Joseph Mengele as he handed people a bar of soap as they went into the shower block.

We parked up and waited.

And waited.

Others were also directed to the bays, some complaining about their wait, and eventually Manuel brought out their food and they left. I refer to ‘Manuel’ – this may not be his actual name. I dub him Manuel not because he was from Barcelona, but because the poor young lad was scurrying back and forth as the sole person bringing angry customers their long awaited food like something out of Fawlty Towers. Also because he will undoubtedly be the one who gets beaten up by hypoglycaemic people waiting in those drive thru bays.

After we’d been there over 15 minutes one couple who had complained about their own wait pointed out that even they had arrived some time after us, before getting their food and driving off.

Part of me feels sorry for Manuel – but if this is his first job at least it will harden him to the world. After his shift tonight, if his next job is as a parking warden, prison officer, or crash test dummy at least he won’t be fazed by the hardships of it. He’ll always be scarred more by his experience working at KFC on this Saturday night.

I did plead with Manuel to get them to give us ‘free stuff’ after we’d been there for 25 minutes (he had been over to apologise several times), and he scurried back inside to try and get them to, you know, give us some of this promised ‘fast food’ and stuff.

I haven’t sat watching so many people enter and leave a building whilst sat motionless, bored, and starving in my car since I used to work in surveillance.

After 29 minutes – TWENTY NINE minutes!!!!!!! – I’d decided if Manuel brought out anyone else’s food but ours, I was going to beat him to death, take the food he was carrying, and demand a refund AND our food for free from the bunch of incompetent idiots inside. Luckily, this time (did I mention this was after 29 minutes, according to our receipt?) it was our food that he brought over.

We sped off home after glancing in the bag to make sure it had 2 boxes in there, and admittedly should have checked more thoroughly… Especially as we realised nobody had given us straws for the drinks. Too hungry to risk a fight at the drive thru window, we cut our losses and headed off.

Have you ever tried to drink a ‘fast food’ Pepsi without a straw? Go on – try it. Once you eventually manage to get enough ice out of the way to get a drop of Pepsi into your mouth, the ice freezes your teeth and gives you an instant headache. If ‘interrogation specialists’ have not yet discovered the values of this as a form of excruciating torture, you might want to market the idea to them.

Unpacking the food back at home, we noted straight away that our 20p worth of BBQ sauces were nowhere in sight. Sauces we bought, in the bag? No.

Opening the boxes, we found not corn on the cob, but some filthy great pots of gravy! I don’t know who even eats a pot of gravy with their fried chicken, but let’s just say we’d rather eat our own legs than order gravy as our ‘side dish’. I can see how you’d want to replace our near-healthy choice of vegetable with a pot of fat as the next best thing. They are a close fit. This is sarcasm, by the way.

Free stuff? Oh, no. We were not given even a solitary piece of chicken to try and compensate us for waiting longer than most of those chickens probably lived.

Then to REALLY rub it in, one of the spicy wings was about 2″ long. Seriously?! Was that little budgie wing deliberately selected by your staff who KNEW we’d been waiting for 29 minutes after deciding NOT to give us any free stuff??

Can you see my frustration, here?

As such, I’ve taken even more time out of my day in order to tell you about my KFC experience, and how, contrary to the slogan on the bag in the picture, it bloody well ISN’T ‘So good’!

It’s pretty damned poor!

So I’ll leave it for you to reply and tell us just what, exactly, you plan to do about it to put things right?

After the wait we had tonight, I won’t hold my breath…


Yours with much anger,


Nasty Evil Ninja



Spiders! They’re Coming To Get You!

Spiders! They’re Coming To Get You!

It’s that time of year when we’re suddenly under siege from spiders.

They’ve been hiding away growing -ing massive, and now they all decide they want to come and sit in your -ing living room, putting all their little feet up on your face whilst they watch the latest season of Big Brother.

Horrible little hairy-legged wank-faced twats!

If you walk around the streets in the evening, you’ll hear the piercing screech of women who’ve just discovered some house spider crawling over their Ugg boots.

The men, choking back a scream themselves and leaving a small trail of wee like a fleeing rabbit, have to pretend they’re not bothered by spiders.

I have a pair of tonfa sticks that I use for the dual purpose of tomping unwanted burglars AND spiders.  The size of some of the buggers (spiders – not burglars) lately has meant I’ve had to take two swings just to break their backs!

One knew a bit of spider kung fu, and blocked and then rolled, escaping under the bed where you just KNOW that bastard will wait until you fall asleep and then smother your face with its big plump abdomen as it licks at the moisture off your eyeballs.

They say we eat 6 spiders a year in our sleep, on average.  Just what the frikkin’ FRICK are they doing climbing into your mouth in the first place?!  It’s not a -ing spa, you little boss-eyed shits!

And how are they move so fast?!  They never used to be this quick!  Have they discovered Red Bull, or something??

And that’s just inside your house.

Take a stroll up your garden path, and what do you see?


Because they -ing wait until it’s dark or the sun is in your eyes, and then, THEN they build webs Tarzan couldn’t have got out of.

And they hang there.  Huge fat squidgy body like a beer-bellied bully.

Waiting for you to come flailing through their webs waving your hands around like a schizophrenic drunk, and then they drop into the hood of your coat and wait until you’re 10 miles down the M42 at 90mph before they crawl inside your -ing ear!!!

I sprayed a filthy great house spider with 90% pure Isopropyl Alcohol last night.

What did he do?

He slowly turned around and staggered back into his little den behind the mantelpiece.

30 minutes later I heard a crash and saw he’d thrown out an empty can of Special Brew.

I’ve created an alcoholic tramp of a spider who’s probably breeding little chavvy spider kids behind my mantelpiece.

I’m either going to get the git on Jeremy Kyle, or when he comes out to walk his Pitbulls and have a spliff I’ll tonfa his ass.

And so the yearly battle begins…