My dislike for Twilight Princess has been documented on ancient scrolls, presently entombed in the depths of my sacred pine-wood wardrobe that was one day purchased at Creations in Lisburn. I thought it was a beast of a thing—Twilight Princess, chiefly, though the wardrobe does betray its age—riddled with muddy textures and polluted with every conceivable shade of brown on the visible spectrum. Today, some blessed soul has re-skinned the game through methods most dubious—and, I’d venture, possibly a smidgen illegal—but the results remind me that, hopefully, Nintendo will one day fashion a console powerful enough to make a realistic Zelda look really special.
In the real world, I used one of the self-scanning machines in Sainsbury’s, which made me feel kind of special.
About me
I'm Jack. Sometimes my hair is untidy, riddled with goblins and smurfs. When I scream into the Grand Canyon, it inspires pained howling in wild dogs and wily coyotes, and compels all leaf-eating mammals to scuttle for higher ground in wait of the great flood. I think Goku is an existential paragon. My life's trajectory is adjusted towards becoming a hermit and dying alone somewhere on top of a golden mountain at sunset. Which is a jolly good innings, all told.
