Game Review: ZombieHole

This is the second posting in a new segment to the blog that applies our expertise in survival and zombie destruction to zombie games found lurking throughout the web. There are times when we become so enraged by the thought of zombies (because we hate em so much) that we have to find some sort of outlet, and there’s no better way to take out zombie-rage like playing a good game (with alcohol and a loaded gun). Also, zombie games usually involve killing zombies, and that’s good practice. Thing is, some of them suck and we end up breaking something, so listen to us as we share which games we think are great and which wouldn’t stop the rage if they injected you with a Valium cocktail.

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Title: ZombieHole (click to play)
Style: Aerial Explorer
Source: ArcadeBombs.com

In this game, someone somewhere let’s loose a chamber full of zombies that were apparently locked up for some reason instead of being killed.  I’m not sure why someone would lock up zombies instead of killing them, unless they happened to hate someone else more than they hated zombies and wanted to feed said person to said zombies.  I don’t know, I don’t understand, let’s move on.  The zombies that were released start to roam around eating people and making more zombies, as those zombie bastards have been known to do.  You play some bad ass wearing sun glasses at night that has some sort of infatuation with a guy known as ‘The Professor.’  Your first quest, at least, is to save this guy, then maybe bone him.

Let’s get the good stuff out of the way first, because this game is mostly full of bad stuff.  When you’re playing the game, you get to wander around, and it turns out the game actually looks pretty good.  The player and the zombies are animated and when you shoot a zombie, there is actually blood splatter in the direction of the bullets.  I think that’s a great feat for whoever designed the game.  The sound is decently not annoying, which is a plus, but there’s no orchestra in this game.  The dialog in the game is strictly on-screen captions, which is good because there’d be no better way to capture such legendary lines as “ok…ready to war baby!” or “so many stone on the street…arrg!” in any spoken tongue that I know of.

Something that’s even cooler than blood splatter is the fact that zombies can be dismembered before they die, occasionally losing a head or arm or leg or some unidentified internal organ.  I like playing with my prey when it’s a zombie.  But perhaps my favorite thing about this game is that the screen shakes when you shoot a weapon; while it might get annoying after a while, it really feels like my bullets pack a punch when the kick back alters my entire perception of reality.  Cool.

Now the bad parts.  Maybe it’s my piece of shit computer, maybe it’s the latest version of Flash, but this game ran really slow for me.  In fact, at the end of the second level it ran so slow that I had to quit, drive to the library, kick a homeless man off his pay-for-porn site, and try it again.  It was so painfully slow that I no longer had fun shooting zombies, which brings me to another point.

It takes a lot of shots to kill a zombie, and if you knock its head off it still attacks you, like murdering the brain doesn’t kill the beast.  That’s fine with a pistol, taking three shots for each of the twenty or so zombies in each level makes sense because you have to start somewhere, but you get a shotgun in the first level and it takes two shots to kill one zombie.  Two-fucking-shots.  What the hell?  My shotgun doesn’t do that.  My shotgun destroys with enough overkill to slaughter a bison, sometimes without me even pulling the trigger.  Well, maybe it would be understandable if those two shots had a wide range or went through the initial target, but they didn’t.  They stopped there, on that first zombie, and totally pissed me off.

Well, whatever, there are better guns later in the game.  Except that the zombies kick your ass when they touch you (as they should), and when you die your body explodes and you have to start completely over at the beginning of the game.  Except from the body exploding, it’s true that there are no restarts in life, and it only takes one bite to spell your doom, but come on.  This is a freaking game for fun and enjoyment, and I would never walk around with a sawed-off turd running blindly into rooms surrounded by zombie teeth.  I never made it past the third level, but if you do, let me know if there’s something worth-while.  (Like a better gun).

Game Score:

Graphics:		4
Sound:		2.5
Fun Factor:		1
Satisfaction:		-1
Total:

Checking the Mail

Scenario:
You walk out onto your front porch. It must have rained last night because the old tree across the street is on fire. You continue out toward the road in your pajamas and your flip flops. At the end of the walkway, you come to an end to your great journey and claim your prize: the mail. When you open the mailbox, bam! Zombie!

What You Should Do:
Chances are, since it is inside your mailbox, it can’t be too big. This does not apply, of course, if you have a PO Box or a giant freaking mailbox big enough to fit an actual person in. In either case (why did I even bring it up then?), you need to get away. I suggest fleeing, not back into your house, but into your car. But do not turn on the engine.

What?!? Oh wait, you’re not running away from the zombies, but you are running away for the time being. You have to check yourself over for wounds, bites, or claw marks. In the passion of the moment, you may have been injured by the zombie, thus becoming a zombie yourself. Running to the house would violate the number one rule of zombie warriors, bringing the infection behind closed doors. That is why you go to the car (for the slower audience). You have to make sure you are safe.

If you are safe, then you must attack the zombie quickly while it is still stuck in the mailbox. A simple cherry bomb has always been a favorite of the neighborhood kids, but you feel that something a bit larger is necessary. Unfortunately, because you aren’t me you probably don’t have anything better (I keep grenades in my glove box). Grab all the cherry bombs you can find and attack. Be swift and be vigilant. You can’t risk getting bitten.

If you are not safe, then you must destroy the zombie threat, the entire zombie threat. Destroy the original zombie any way you see fit. Make it quick, not safe, because you’ve already taken the road to hell. After destroying the original zombie threat, you must destroy yourself. I recommend siphoning out the gas from your lawn mower (the car may be useful to your loved ones, but the lawn mower is lame either way). Take a gas shower and have a cigarette. Those things will kill ya, you know?

What I Would Do:
Jump for joy because my friend Kenny got me a pack of zombie celebrity cards for my birthday. Hellz yeahz. I got Nicole Richie, Paris Hilton, Hulk Hogan, Janet Jackson and more. Even David Beckham made an appearance, kicking the head off of his wife, the Spice Girl. I think Imes was there too, claiming he had been a zombie since 1978. What a guy.

A Second-Story Apartment

Scenario:
Jesus Tequila, last night was rough! It’s late Saturday morning and you’re head feels like a cement brick dropped from fifty feet. You wouldn’t be awake except your dog started barking at something outside the window of your second story apartment. Despite your head-pounding commands, your dog won’t shut its yapper, so you get up and glance out the window to see what’s going on. Zombies. Zombies are what’s going on, and there are about fifty of them milling around the street below your apartment. Although they don’t know you’re there, the barking dog keeps drawing their attention and bringing them closer. Your car is on the street. What do you do?

What you should do:
You’re going to have to make a choice. Do you try to get rid of the dog so that it stops attracting attention or do you try to get out before a mob zombie breaks down your door? If you ditch the dog, you could lay low and hope the zombies thin out before you go for the car, but you’ll also lose a family member. On the other hand, if you don’t stop the barking you’re going to need a lot of ammo to stop the zombies.

I think the road is pretty clear if you drop the pup out a window, so I’m not going to discuss that one so much.¹ If you’ve learned anything from Robert Neville, it should have been that man’s best friend can keep you sane when the world ends and there’s no one left but you and a million monsters, so I’m going to suggest you keep your dog unless there’s an obvious reason to leave it behind.

First, assuming you didn’t train your dog well enough to silence it on command, throw it into a pillow case and toss it in the bathroom. That should muffle the sound and prevent the barking from drawing more attention. Then, as always, find some sort of make-shift weapon. If you have a gun, you could try to shoot some zombies from out the window, but that would draw all the undead forces down upon you. Instead, use the gun only if absolutely necessary, opting instead for heavy clubs or bats.

The goal now is to escape. Determine the window out of which there are the fewest zombies and the best route to descend. If you have a tree out a window, see if you can jump to a limb. If you have the roof of a carport, decide if you can jump on to it. Anything to break your fall, including bushes or trash, would lower the chances of breaking a leg or knocking yourself out. When you’re ready, throw your dog over your should, grab up your weapons, and take the plunge. Dash for the car, fending off zombies as necessary. If there are only a few in your way, use a club to stealthily bust their knees; otherwise, shoot your way through. Hopefully the “mobile survival kit” is already in the car.

What I would do:
Because I don’t own anything that isn’t awesome, my dog would be awesome. Incredibly awesome, so there’s no way I would be able to part with my four-legged Washington. Of course, I would train him to be quiet and obey my orders, but as a hardcore hater of zombies, I would understand it if my dog became enraged at the trespasses of the dead and found it hard to resist furiously shouting in anger. Ah, if only words could kill…the undead.²

Now, as you may know, I have a shotgun. It’s my favorite shotgun, my best friend shotgun, my precious, and I can only type three paragraphs before I stop to oil it again. I even type with one hand so the other can be free to caress the trigger.³ I wouldn’t say that I need my shotgun to survive, but I wouldn’t not say I need my shotgun. So what’s this got to do with anything? One word: stairs.

Since I’m on the second floor, that means there is a stairway that goes up to my level, a small corridor funneling my enemies into a confined space that hinders movement. Shotguns love enemies in small corridors. Instead of reprimanding my dog, I’d throw my survival-pack on my back and walk out to the top of the stairs. Then I’d howl, probably curse, maybe ask a zombie for a fifth of tequila. Whatever it takes, get those dumb bastards to walk up my stairs. I’d wait for as many as possible before I took my first shot, then splash their brains and scatter their limbs against the walls with a double blast of buckshot. It’s the kind of thing I could do all day, and maybe I would, but it’d be best to do it only once or twice to thin the numbers before making my great escape.

¹ Nobody’s talking about killing dogs here.
² Or any sound really, it wouldn’t have to be words. Maybe a single note from a violin would be just the right frequency to dismember those walking cold-cut combos.
³ Knowing that I have such a shotgun is like knowing a bit of my very being.

Don’t Mess with the US

Scenario:
It’s the Fourth of July, you’re not in Iraq but you feel like busting Osama’s ass (as if he were in Iraq… ever.) As you light a pile of gunpowder and wood the size of a mule, you notice something sauntering in the distance. However, you cannot be sure what it is because of the hundreds of pop bottle rockets headed your way. Hell, you might even get hit in the eye, but at least you’re an American. Now, as you dodge the assault, you’ve got a decision to make. Is that a zombie, or a drunk Mexican? What do you do?

What you Should do:
Trick question. Being an American, especially on a particularly American day, you’ve really only got one choice. Shoot first, ask questions whenever. If it’s a Mexican trying to take your jobs, then you’ve got to react. However, if it’s a zombie, you’ve got an entirely equal situation on your hands. You gotta shoot first, and ask questions whenever.

Now, to be completely fair (which is un-American), you should figure out who you’re dealing with. The reason? Figure out which ammo to fire. Deflect a rocket toward the direction of the intruder. When it explodes, one of two things will happen. Either the light will betray the enemy for what he is, or the explosion will frighten the living, and the undead will remain unaffected. If deemed undead, fire quality ammo from the shotgun or the bazooka. If deemed living, fire the FBI badge that you keep on hand to impress women. That’ll make ‘em shit their pants.

If one or two shots doesn’t take the little bastard down, you know what you gotta do. Take your stockpile of gasoline (I know you have it, it’s the 4th) and spray it at the intruder. Conveniently located next to you is a lit firework. Throw it in the mist and watch the show. It’ll be a fourth you never forget.

What I Would Do:
First off, I’d shotgun a beer. If that doesn’t put me in the spirit of Paul Revere, then I’d go to my secret weapon, Steel Reserve. After loading up, I would know what to do. Remember Ryu from Street Fighter? Yeah, he was a badass with his little blue fireball. Truth be told though, he was a chump. That same move, performed by a true master, is able to accelerate an object up to the speed of light. I am such a master, but only on the Fourth of July.

After chugging a Steel Reserve, I shout Hy-Ru-Ken!!! My hair flies back, as if there is wind that isn’t, and the power of the sun is within my grasp. I propel a bottle rocket at the speed of light toward my enemy. At the same time, the bottle rocket engages, accelerating past the speed of light and into a speed unknown to man. It is known as Gunfight at the OK Corral. Upon entering Gunfight at the OK Corral, the pop bottle rocket ceases to exist. In its place is a golden arrow from Heaven sent to Earth from God to rid the planet of evil. When it enters our reality, the zombie melts into a piece of apple pie. Sweet American Apple Pie. And its safe to eat!!!

Tubbytronics – Not an NFL Superdome

Scenario:
You went to bed last night with a little tingle in your throat, perhaps an ominous sign of drier days or developing illness. Just in case, you decide to call in sick to work in an effort to skip work but you advertise it as an effort to head off runny nose, dry, scratchy eyes, and a hoarse cough. That’s why you’re sitting on your couch with a beer and a bag of pretzels watching day-time television. It sucks long and it sucks hard, and you can’t help but flick through the channels. Then you stop, and your eyes begin to bulge, and you realize a fate worse than death: Teletubbies. There’s a sensation in your stomach, warm and sticky, and it climbs into your throat, into your mouth, and you begin to retch. That’s when a zombie hooker walks through your window. What do you do?

What you should do:
There’s a little known weakness among the living that few ever discover. In adults, the colorful sound-orgy of the Teletubbies triggers an instinctual vomit reflex that can rarely be overcome.¹ The force and quantity is so severe that it clenches all muscles and restricts breathing for prolonged periods of time, rendering the victim incapable of action until commercial break, if not the end of the episode. In summary, Teletubbies is a buzz kill that could end lives. That’s why it’s on only when normal, honest people are working to bring home the bacon bits.

I explain this not because it will help you survive against hooker zombies, but that it will help you survive against all that is Teletubbies. When you see a zombie, you have full opportunity to take action, but Teletubbies have first-strike and preemptively shatter your ability to resist. Add a zombie on top of Teletubbies and you. will. die.

So here’s what you do. When you feel that next wave of frothy stomach-juice coming up, convulse as best you can so that you spray the television screen with obscuring freedom. The better that subversive material is buried, the less it will be able to hold sway over you. The music, the voices, you can’t help that unless you’ve already had several beers and enough liquid to short the whole works. As soon as the Teletubbies have fallen from wicked power, move away from the zombie and regain your strength.

It’s your house, there should be no better place for you to defend against a zombie intruder. If you aren’t prepared at home, then how can you say you’re prepared at all? If you don’t have shotguns lining the walls or hidden under ever cushion, grab a mace or sword and wreck havoc. What? You don’t have maces or swords, or even a club? Then get creative and find a weapon, or just leave. Whatever, I don’t even care anymore.

What I would do:
If you thought I was immune to the corruptive power of the Teletubbies, you would be wrong. Dead wrong. I am no mere mortal, but the Teletubbies were certainly sent by the very darkest powers of Satan to ravage the earth and rend asunder all of humanity as the faux horsemen of the apocalypse.² As such, what is there to do but lash out against the breaking waves of evil before the last vestiges of righteousness flow from my body.

Thanks to my close relation with the avian family, the acidity of my stomach rivals that of the stately Vulture, yet includes a variety of noxious fumes that combust given the slightest provocation. As the Teletubbies attempt to paralyze me, I would spray liquid-corrosion out in the direction of those monsters and the monster breaking through my window. The digestive juice will quickly destroy the TV and melt the feet off the zombie, causing that nasty hooker to fall to the ground.

Then, while the fallen croaker crawls towards me in an unnerving display of determination, I’d take up my remote control, a high-powered Logitech Harmony, and switch it to ‘laser’ with an activity button I’ve labeled ‘Mission Eagle-Eye.’ Pointing at the melting zombie, I’d mash all buttons at once to send out a stream of radiation that would ignite the fumes in a minor explosion, decimating all but the upper torso of that lady of the night. At the same time, I would turn my back and catch a ride on the shockwave into another room, from which I would grab my pre-packed supplies, drive away in my Ford Escape, and remote detonate my entire house with the Panic button on my truck’s keyless entry fob. Poof. Zombie ash.³

¹ Some have proven immune to Teletubbies, primarily social workers and day care specialists. It is recommended that one be kept on speed dial at all times.
² “I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Zombies were following close behind him.” The true words of revelation.
³ Imagine U2’s “War” is blaring as the soundtrack of my victorious escape.