Game Review: Left 4 Dead 2
by Kiel Wipp
March 1: I sit here quietly in this
concrete room, trying to tune out
the phlegmy growls coming from
just beyond the door. I think they’re
eating that bird. Crap on my only
shirt, will you? Fucker. While my
four friends are taking the time to
bandage up and re-stock ammunition,
I have decided to write these
journals, using old cigarette butts
and discarded pizza boxes. I’m hoping
they make it into the hands of
some lucky bastard who survives
to tell the real story, and then I’ll
become totally rich and famous.
That’ll show that jerkoff english
professor. If, y’know, he’s still alive.
March 3: First off, let’s not start
throwing around blame for who
started this. There’s no use asking
who smashed what vial of deadly
experimental virus into that chick’s
face. We need to think about the future.
She totally deserved it anyway.
Probably. Regardless, it’s pointless
to throw around accusations now
because that whole state got carpetbombed,
which destroyed all incriminating
evidence.
March 5: The thing we learned
the quickest out here is that you’ve
got to keep your eyes open all the
friggin’ time. Check every brokendown
rusted-out car you see, so
these undead bastards don’t jump
out at you. Same goes for buildings.
Some of these places have really
shifty lighting, what with all the dirt
and gore all over the place. They
like to hang around in bathrooms
for some reason. I guess being dead
loosens your bladder, like with
grandma that time. Watch out for
any burning fires too. Those sons of
bitches will run right through them
when they’re swarming you. Then
what have you got? You’ve got fire
zombies, that’s what. That’s a bad
scene right there.
March 9: Oh man, Rochelle almost
bit it today. I totally had to give
her mouth-to-mouth. Then she hit
me, and Coach yelled. Sometimes I
hate these guys. Coach tried to bandage
up my splinter the other day
I had to hit him with the machete.
Then Ellis wouldn’t shut up about
his stupid friend with the blah blah
blah, shut up you yokel. I’ll keep
them around for now, until I’m super
rich and then Nick told me we’d
go to Vegas. Kickass.
March 13: Wicked! I found a
chainsaw with a full gas tank. Aw
man, that was a fun day. There was
zombie goo everywhere. They keep
saying I should pick up a shotgun
or a rifle, but the joke’s on them. My
machete never runs out of bullets,
and Desert Eagles are just pimp, yo.
I wonder how swamp hillbillies got
ahold of combat shotguns and M14
rifles. Oh well, mine now.
March 19: There’s more and
more of these super-elite zombie
types running around now. Freaky
shit, man. One of those big Boomer
ones snuck up on Nick, but then
I macheted its fat ass, and BAM!
Exploded gore all over the place.
Coach yelled. Then one of those
jockey bastards jumped on Rochelle
and rode her around. I was doubled
over from laughing, but then Coach
yelled again, so I fired some shots
off. Luckily I hit the zombie, so it’s
all good.
March 25: Dear reader: this is
Coach. Rochelle, Nick, Ellis, and I
are sorry to imform you that Kiel
will no longer be continuing his
pizza box journals. Unfortunately,
his behaviour made him a liability.
He was...accidentally...shot in the
foot, and couldn’t keep up with us.
He was ripped to shreds. Thank you
for your time.
Check out Kiel’s blog at kwipp.wordpress.com for more reviews.