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Does A Good Game Make A Good Movie Idea?
Brakz0rz writes "Here's a BBCi article by Daniel Etherington with an overview on how videogames translate onto the big screen. I can't say I've been impressed by any such effort so far. The article touches on John Woo's upcoming Metroid adaptation. Etherington writes, "One of these days, someone has just got to make a decent video game movie. How about Peter Jackson doing Zelda? Now that would be promising." I would enjoy that more than the games franchised from the LOTR trilogy."
slrrrpr!
Yesterday noon at half-past two, my guts began to rumble,
So to the 'fridge I duly went, and therein did I fumble.
I came across a chicken breast inviting me to eat it,
So out it came - cold gravy too; and carrots, spuds and garlic.
(I would have used mint sauce that day, but then I thought, "potatoes!"
For they and mint can't coexist, so I used two tomatoes.)
I chopped the carrots, beans and herbs, and threw them in the fryer,
But not before I melted up a gen'rous knob of butter.
I don't like gravy when it's cold, so I slammed it in the micro,
A coupl'a mins it ran on hot. I added oregano.
"Now for the chicken breast," I drooled - it truly looked delicious,
I pulled it out from cellophane - so succulent and sumptuous.
Into the oven it did go. I waited with some glee,
For I was feeling hungry now at nearly ten past three.
At last the oven clock did chime. My knife and fork were ready
And there it stood - the perfect breast - its steamy fragrance heady.
With reverence I took a peek; and great anticipation -
A gastronomical delight! Such taste-bud stimulation!
And there enthroned among the veg it sat in regal splendour.
I settled down with great delight - but there began the horror.
"What's going on?" my mind did quail, "I'm sure that must be fake!"
for slowly did it stand aloft. My head began to ache.
There stood the hideous chicken breast, juice sliding from its back.
My face went pale, my knees did knock and then - I heard it quack.
The sweat was pouring from my brow when I returned from fainting,
And my chicken was weeping now as if its heart was breaking.
"Oh, woe is me!" I heard her cry, "How could this e'er have happened?
Alas that it should end this way for now this chick is ruined!"
"Whatever's wrong?" I asked in fear. "Why is it that you're crying?"
The meat replied, "Well, you would too if you experienced dying."
Continued she with mournful voice, "I'm nowhere nearly old.
And now as meat for someone's lunch I find that I've been sold."
"That's quite normal," said I, intrigued, "It's why they make you fatter."
"Oh no!" the distraught breast replied, "I thought that I'd live longer."
"It's not so bad," I told her now, "It happens now and then,
Just look back o'er your bygone life. What's life like for a hen?"
She told me of her hatching out a year or two ago,
And how in winter she was best at finding food in snow.
A merry life she used to lead until she faced the chopper,
But soon her life would end in tears and she would come a cropper.
"The horror of that final hour is much too much to bear.
If you'd been there, you'd have exclaimed that it's a true nightmare.
In pools of blood the floor was drenched; and trampled, bloodstained feathers.
I looked into his murd'rous face. His eyes gave me the shivers.
I saw his axe as he grabbed me. His hands they hurt my neck.
And vainly 'twas that I did try to fight back with a peck.
That cursèd block! I see it now - the site of many crimes!"
[I'm sorry, sir, but I can't think of anything that rhymes.]
"Forsooth," the chopped-up chicken wailed, "I had no hope at all,
Before that lethal blade of his, I could do naught but bawl."
"Then why didst thou not run away?" I asked in tones perplexed.
"I didn't know, to tell the truth, that I would be the next."
Said I, "How can it be that you should end up as my dinner?"
"It is," my chicken breast replied, "because I am a sinner."
And so the sad, sad story ran; a tale of great woe,
But I assure you that it's true - I heard it told just so.
The moral of the story runs - hens of the world take note -
That no-one knows the day or hour when someone slits your throat.
Unless with carrots, beans and spuds you wish to end up grilling,
I recommend you seek to flee from this impending killing.