Following a third world war, mankind clamps down on what it perceives to be the cause of war and hostility: extemes of emotion. Populations are issued a drug called Prozium to suppress their feelings, while anything intended to evoke emotion—such as art—is destroyed.

Somewhere out in cyberspace (not to be confused with text media, or arborspace), there are a bunch of science fiction fanboys who look to the Cube and Cube 2 as some great philosophical and scientific achievement. When I achieve world dominion, they will be the first to die.

So you like the Warcraft, do ya? Like the SC, the BW? Think you’re pretty tough, conquering countless worlds and beating back limitless Orc hordes, dontcha. I hear you’re married to that 6ling build order and addicted to the sweet taste of M&M and Heavy Metal. Allow me to suggest an RTS title with a new tempo: Empire Earth. For $40, it comes served with a bag of chips and a side order of “all that.”

Suppose I’ll look on the net for the critics’ takes on it, when I’m bored enough, but here’s how I see it. Basically we have a plot that keeps hinting at two major themes, so similar as to be redundant: personas are illusions of self, and seeking fame for its own sake equally hollows one out. We also have a director who really, really liked Pulp Fiction, explaining the various extraneous scenes, characters and imagery, as well as the frickin’ diner. Lynch also apparently likes Hellraiser; this I am led to infer after a horribly forced ending with the devil-bum and the cube (Hellraiser 1). I love easter eggs and homages as much as anyone, but when a work has no substance of its own and leans on easily-recognizable forms to cover for it, I think it’s pretty sad.

Usurper explores the highs and lows of Blue Oyster Cult’s latest studio album.

In 2003, I broke WC3 on down, mainly focusing on the differences of its skirmish-level play as opposed to wargames proper. Many of my opinions have changed in the interim, but the WC3 ring is back up as of early ’06, so it’s a survivor at the least.

Perhaps the thing that hurts most about Monte Cook’s Of Aged Angels is the terrible loss of potential. Aliens are great. Secret societies are great. This time, however, the execution is so bad, you’ll be wishing he’d butchered a cookbook instead. I found myself wondering how such a horrible mishmash of X-Files, Roswell, Dark Skies, and Holy Blood, Holy Grail could be squeezed into one package.

Disenfranchised by the rank effeminacy of modern America, but somehow,the philosophical revlotuion that was “Fight Club” didn’t do anythign foryou? Have no fear, badass wanna-bes, ’cause now famed-author/venom-milkerBret Easton Ellis brings us the books that defined a decade (uh, made that DEFIED):

American Psycho