Just finished making a game with JW! As it is a flash game we are looking for sponsorship for Crippled Master and the Deadly Trap Disaster. It's gonna be fun!
Just finished making a game with JW! As it is a flash game we are looking for sponsorship for Crippled Master and the Deadly Trap Disaster. It's gonna be fun!
I've had a blog for awhile. Kept fudging it up. This is the new, permanent blog I'll be updating with new stuff.
a tribute to the punishment games by messhof. two-player only - have fun!
topic or [direct download]
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Secret Blog
A very long time ago there was nothing in the multiverse. Nothing but ghosts. These ghosts wore long red robes and soared amongst the stars in packs of millions. But that's not the point. The point is: there was nothing in the multiverse. Nothing but ghosts. These ghosts wore long red robes and soared amongst the stars in packs of millions. Their lives were mundane. So boring, in fact, that they did nothing but bitch and moan to one another. One day the smallest of all the ghosts was tired of being bored so he willed himself away. POOF and he was gone. Stunned, the rest of the ghosts followed suit and all at once too! There was a quiet BANG as suddenly millions of ghosts vanished. The hole they left behind began to grow. It expanded beyond the horizons of Yog Sogoth's eyes and peeled back his iced fur. Black blood bubbled to the surface of the creature as it shrunk and grew all at once.
Voiceless, the multiverse began right then. Through the pores of the Gated Creature's blue skin birthed the Divine Paraphernalia and Propaganda that created everything we know today. It created our earth. Washed the naked rock with water. Flooded the surface with lovely creatures.
In the final year of the Second World War of the earth, a man was shot dead in a street in London. On his person were three golden watches and in his head were strings of buckshot. But that's not the point. The point was that he was dead. It was an accident really. But being poor, I do not hold this to be a true accident. Impoverished and unloved by the world. I cannot fathom the clarity of being without everything. Everything that I take for granted. But that's not the point - the point is that I was not the man shot that day. No, as he slept on the street, still, I cried in sacrilege at the youth as he scrambled away. But I almost instantly forgot. But I didn't care. But I was safe. But I had that day's paper to read. I wanted to read. So I hurried home to read of more elaborate deaths in that day. You and I cannot discuss this any further.
Secret Blog
A very long time ago there was nothing in the multiverse. Nothing but ghosts. These ghosts wore long red robes and soared amongst the stars in packs of millions. But that's not the point. The point is: there was nothing in the multiverse. Nothing but ghosts. These ghosts wore long red robes and soared amongst the stars in packs of millions. Their lives were mundane. So boring, in fact, that they did nothing but bitch and moan to one another. One day the smallest of all the ghosts was tired of being bored so he willed himself away. POOF and he was gone. Stunned, the rest of the ghosts followed suit and all at once too! There was a quiet BANG as suddenly millions of ghosts vanished. The hole they left behind began to grow. It expanded beyond the horizons of Yog Sogoth's eyes and peeled back his iced fur. Black blood bubbled to the surface of the creature as it shrunk and grew all at once.
Voiceless, the multiverse began right then. Through the pores of the Gated Creature's blue skin birthed the Divine Paraphernalia and Propaganda that created everything we know today. It created our earth. Washed the naked rock with water. Flooded the surface with lovely creatures.
In the final year of the Second World War of the earth, a man was shot dead in a street in London. On his person were three golden watches and in his head were strings of buckshot. But that's not the point. The point was that he was dead. It was an accident really. But being poor, I do not hold this to be a true accident. Impoverished and unloved by the world. I cannot fathom the clarity of being without everything. Everything that I take for granted. But that's not the point - the point is that I was not the man shot that day. No, as he slept on the street, still, I cried in sacrilege at the youth as he scrambled away. But I almost instantly forgot. But I didn't care. But I was safe. But I had that day's paper to read. I wanted to read. So I hurried home to read of more elaborate deaths in that day. You and I cannot discuss this any further.