I settled an old old score this week. A South American war of attrition spanning more than two decades was finally put to rest. I rescued all five "high value" hostages, massacred hundreds of soldiers, and sent one Russian prototype super helicopter to that great junk heap in the sky all with deftly thrown grenades and a barrage of M16 fire. When I flew out of that airport there wasn't one commie motherfucker left to launch so much as a pea shooter. When I returned stateside, a prototypical CIA head (or was it supposed to be Ollie North?) gave me his congratulations, a whole mess of greenbacks and a swift kick in the ass right back out into the shit to do it again.
I have been genuinely trying my very best to beat Operation Wolf since a buddy got it for Christmas in the mid eighties. It finally happened, I just picked up my wiimote, sat down and beat the game. I am old enough to appreciate the skewered context on which the game is based, though all the same my first instinct after mission completion was to hit up limewire for Van Halen's PANAMA and start smoking big expensive cigars. It happened pretty unceremoniously considering the scary amount of hours invested but every time I think of it I get a tinge of pride that says my cumulative years of effort were not in vain. It's my soldier of fortune Stanley Cup. So many games I've played are cinematic in nature and make ultimate success a matter of patience alone, this game made me bleed, sweat, and cry. Even if it was a half-assed 8 bit payoff, I'm infused with this grim pride that Killing Liquid Snake for the fifth time can never equal.
VIVA LA NES!
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