50 Cent: Blood on The Sand review

 

50 Cent, done British

I reviewed 50 Cent: Blood on the Sand  the other day, plugging the Down Trodden String Band in the process. I’m actually quite proud of that review, so go read it and then tell me how great I am.

To say that Blood on the Sand even has a plot is an injustice comparable to blinding a kitten or teaching children it’s OK to grow up to be thuggish, gun-toting louts. It’s not a plot; it’s a feeble excuse for violence, one which starts with 50 Cent and the rest of his crew (read: not sailors) finishing a series of gigs in what people who watch 24 must think that the entire Middle East looks like. The game world is blatantly meant to be Iraq, but the developer constantly stops short of saying it for fear of offending anyone, which is unusual given the actual content. 

Yesterday I went to see Frost/Nixon with Hannah. When I came back my stomach was hurting. Hannah, knowing me, thought I might have eaten something rotten. She asked me what I had for dinner, but I couldn’t remember. I then realised that I’d not actually had dinner; I’d done that thing where I’m so busy doing something I forget to eat. Hannah called me a silly bear and then I had some toast and a waffle, felt better and went to bed. 

That story was about as interesting as picking my nose, I know. Slightly more interesting is me blogging about What I Learned from Deus Ex on the bit-tech.net  blog. 

Joe, Out.