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High Concept Indie Game Generator 1.0

One day, a…

teenage girl

cute robot

child or young adult of ambiguous gender

female-coded artificial intelligence

furry woodland creature

sapient geometric shape

… goes on a journey to:

an enchanted forest.

a mysterious underground kingdom.

a derelict space station.

a dying world.

Purgatory/Limbo.

the realm of stories.

With the aid of:

a socially awkward scientist

an ugly but well-meaning monster

an eclectic band of fellow exiles

a spirit or deity of uncertain motives

a mysterious benefactor who communicates though notes or recordings

the player (who the protagonist is aware of and can talk to)

… our hero harnesses the power of:

friendship

their own mind

grotesque physical transformations

Jungian archetypes

a childhood hobby or pastime

literacy

… and contends with fearsome foes via:

battles of wits

match-three minigames

collectible card duels

turn based JRPG-style combat

ritualised sports matches

talking about their feelings

… to overcome the forces of:

social conformity.

institutional racism.

divine authority.

gender roles.

inevitable fate.

Capitalism.

In the end, it’s revealed that:

God is evil

the narrator and/or the user interface has been lying to you

this has all happened before, and will happen again

the player character is secretly the villain

it was all a dream - but not your dream

we’re all just characters in a video game

… leading to:

revolution.

reconciliation of sworn foes.

the hero’s ascension to godhood.

the hero’s tragic but willing self-sacrifice.

escape from the prison of reality.

universal annihilation.

Reviewers harshly criticise the game’s:

awkward controls

repetitive gameplay

over-wordy dialogue

short and linear narrative

heavy-handed emotional manipulation

low animation budget

… but universally praise its:

outstanding soundtrack.

outstanding soundtrack.

outstanding soundtrack.

outstanding soundtrack.

outstanding soundtrack.

outstanding soundtrack.

The fandom, for their part:

become obsessed with an incidental side character

argue endlessly over the appropriateness of popular ships

produce vast quantities of angsty YouTube AMVs

harass the developers on social media

attempt to start a religious movement

draw lots of anatomically improbable porn

… thus cementing their public reputation as a bunch of weirdos. Meanwhile, the much-anticipated sequel fails to eventuate owing to the fact that:

the creative lead has left the gaming industry to become a lumberjack.

the Kickstarter spent all its money on novelty t-shirts.

the source code has been lost in a mysterious accident.

the developers all burned out on console port QA.

the writer and the artist had a falling-out and hate each other now.

the cliffhanger ending was just trolling you.

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A hitman who advertises his services the way a commission artist does

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Swore

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having a freeze response to stress is so funny in the context of normal adult stressors. millions of years of evolution are trying to tell me that the email will not find me if i stay very still and do nothing

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My favorite detail about Jurassic Park is that it has a baked-in justification for any and all retcons it might need to make due to paleontology advancing forwards.

Because there is not a single dinosaur that has ever appeared in Jurassic Park.

Not one. Not in the books. Not in the movies. Not ever.

"Now what John Hammond and InGen did at Jurassic Park was to create genetically engineered theme park monsters." ~Alan Grant

Grant says that in a moment of cynicism. It's part of his arc for the film. But it's not inaccurate. What Jurassic Park has, what it's always had since the very first novel, are "Mostly Dinosaurs".

"And since the DNA is so old, it's full of holes! Now, that's where our geneticists take over!" ~Mr. DNA

It's impossible to recover a fully intact gene sequence from an ancient amber mosquito. Cloning a pure dinosaur would have been completely impossible, and so the park filled in the gene sequence with whatever works. Frog. Lizard. Bird. Whatever they need to get the result they are trying to get.

Every single dinosaur is a chimeric beast made up of mostly dinosaur and a bunch of other stuff that some scientists thought would achieve the appropriate dinosaur-like result.

"Nothing in Jurassic World is natural! We have always filled gaps in the genome with the DNA of other animals. And if the genetic code was pure, many of them would look quite different." ~Dr. Henry Wu

Which, from a writing perspective, is fucking genius. Because now you have a preset excuse for each and every plot hole your movie has.

Like. Why don't the raptors have feathers? Because of the chimera DNA.

Why do dilophosaurs spit venom? Because of the chimera DNA.

Why do T-Rexes have movement based vision? Oh, they don't. But Rexy does. Because of her chimera DNA.

Why is the Spinosaurus so fucking big? Because of the chimera DNA.

Why are the velociraptors mislabeled? Because Hammond's a dipshit.

Like. I've always marveled at the way Jurassic Park started out by giving itself a blanket excuse to be wrong about every single thing it ever said about the central attraction of its franchise. It's honestly beautiful, and allows the series a degree of immortality well into the era where we know better about its animals.

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it was dark and all the tumblr blogs were getting ready to sleep through the night. each one put on little blog pajamas and climbed into the bed. the big blogs opened the window to let the cool night air in and then pulled a big warm sheet over the little blogs. they began tucking the little blogs in, kissing each one on the header. "good night" they said to the first blog. "good night" they said to the second blog. "good night" they said to the third blog. "good night" they said to the fourth blog. "good night" they said to the fifth blog. "good night" they said to the sixth blog. "good night" they said to the seventh blog. "good night" they said to the eighth blog. "good night" they said to the ninth blog. "good night" they said to the tenth blog. "good night" they said to the eleventh blog. "good night" they said to the twelfth blog. "good night" they said to the thirteenth blog. "good night" they said to the fourteenth blog. "good night" they said to the fifteenth blog. "good night" they said to the sixteenth blog. "good night" they said to the seventeenth blog. "good night" they said to the eighteenth blog. "good night" they said to the nineteenth blog. "good night" they said to the twentieth blog. one big blog blew out the bedside candle and closed the door, and then all the little comfy blogs fell into a deep sleep. the end

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One of my favorite things about Put Baby In Pelican Mouth is that not only does the pelican have the intelligence necessary to speak human language but also knows how to lie, suggesting it has a theory of mind, yet not enough to understand that no one is going to put baby in pelican mouth.

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Things suck right now. Who wants to join me in making paper crane chains? You don't need any special tools or artistic talent, it gives you something to do with your hands, and you end up with a pretty chain of paper cranes that you can either hang up, or throw away without feeling too wasteful. And if you do join me, post pictures in the reblogs! :)

Tools you will need: needle and thread, a pad of post-it notes, and sharpies/markers/crayons/etc. of your choice.

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Feelin extra fergalicious at this grocery store

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Tumblr observation day four: Analysis has led us to believe one would simply need to post something as inscrutable as "Feelin extra fergalicious at this grocery store" in order to attain high praise on this website. We will investigate and report back.

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lovely story from a friend today.

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“average person eats 3 spiders a year” factoid actualy just statistical error. average person eats 0 spiders per year. Spiders Georg, who lives in cave & eats over 10,000 each day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted

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nuclear power is impressive until you get up to why. "we use the most precisely engineered machinery ever created to split atoms to release energy" oh yeah how come? "boil water to turn a fan" get the fuck out

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Man, I almost drank myself to death yesterday, I can't even remember my name, if only there was someone that could help me.

The the trustworthy and saint-like lieutenant:

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I was at a bookstore looking through the art section and I saw a spine that said The Camden Town Nudes which was interesting because this didn’t seem like the bookstore where I would ever find something like that and I wanted to have a casual look but like. This also wasn’t exactly the bookstore where you felt like you could look at naked pictures let alone just suggestive paintings of them, it’s a really small shop as well, so I was like right I’ll just take a quick peek, I’m an art student, I love history, maybe I’ll buy it. I looked both ways and saw the shopkeep had left momentarily and no one was about, so I opened it and found it was an entire book featuring nude Edwardian women all painted by Walter Sickert between 1905-1912 and it was actually quite a revolutionary set of paintings for its time given that it featured very raw depictions of working class nude women in dark London instead of the elegant, white bedsheet clad, Demure middle and upper class women usually depicted.

And of course RIGHT as I flip to this lady’s boobs practically taking up an entire double page spread, every customer in a 5 mile radius appeared from around the corners of the shelf including the shopkeep and immediately regressing to a wet, pathetic Edwardian man from 1908, startled, I dropped the large book which caused a giant SLAP on the floor in this already silent store thus causing all patrons to look down at me scrambling on my knees to close a giant book of Edwardian boobs and let me tell you it would not have been nearly as funny had I not immediately felt like some Edwardian local pervert who just tried to sneak a cheeky peek at the erotic book in the bookstore only to drop it dramatically causing a scene, red up to his ears trying to shove it back on the shelf. Like such a casual and normal thing in modern day but looking at Edwardian women suddenly turned it into this egregious act as I apparently became possessed by the spirit of a moustached man in a bowler hat and morning coat going Good Heavens I mustn’t gaze upon these images in public lest the constable haul me away!