Grab your swords and pantyhose, butthole face has come again
On a more grounded note, I feel like the population of Indie games is growing exponentially (obviously awesome news). Not like this genre doesn't have its fair share of garbage, and possibly will need a landfill the size of the moon to store them all one day, but I'm a happy chubber regardless. Because wiping my buttocks with the printed online receipts of an indie game sure feels a lot more comfortable around my hole than say the plastic case of a high-budget game like COD: Blobs 2.
So here comes Castle Crashers riding on the back of an adult Giraffe, only to find itself self quickly falling off into the swampmarsh and eaten by a cougar shortly after because the long necked thing needed a squat. I don't mind making that statement since one of the game's farces is just that, animals releasing their last meal in the shape of a soggy streamlike jet with enough force to propel a small dog onto the roof of a house. The overall design of the game works well enough with those fart jokes, or at least more fitting than a leather sofa in a salvation army. But the gameplay just leaves me scratching my body hair far too often.
It's the sort problem I had with in Bastion; a inordinate amount of button mashing and leveling up only for the purpose of destroying more and more things in your path. Maybe my brain is just too worthless and jaded to know how to just sit back and enjoy the ride, like playing ball in a cup with my best friend's package. And I know repetition is an inevitable aspect of all games, but they're degrees that are more tolerable than others. Unless you're drunk or gambling. At that point it doesn't matter what you're playing.
I can't remember the last time I wore matching socks.