... As you've probably guessed, someone just kindly gifted me with a copy of Terraria.

My life as I knew it (not very well) is over. I began as a friendly skeptic, warned by the anime/NES-era JRPG graphics not to expect too much, frustrated by the way giving my character a ponytail turned it into a squealing ladygirl character and unimpressed by the imbecilic way Minecraft had largely been copied to a t - a gross thing to do except in parody, for Minecraft is essentially a game that never replaced its placeholder art and functions from the early testing stages.

... Eighteen hours later, I finally managed to tear myself away.

Nothing, and I mean nothing has held me that steadily in place since Neocron, the 2001 post-apocalyptic/science fiction MMOFPS. And nothing before it. Eighteen hours is a record only precisely matched by that one compelling world, and only thereafter approached by a single, 15-hour marathon session of Deus Ex. Twelve hour sessions in classic cRPGs like Baldur's Gate 2 and Fallout 1 have never been altogether -too- remarkable, nor in the better class of MMO such as Planetside or Star Wars: Galaxies.

What the hell is going on? It's 2011! The most compellingly addictive, entertaining and unpredictable game on the market in 2011 a sidescrolling multiplayer platformer with graphics that would not have looked remotely out of place in 1993!

Can Epic, iD and Crytek keep producing ugly-beautiful shooters, straining the limits of their 'ingenuity' to straddle both console and PC capabilities and push the envelope on epic views and smooth action, while a sixteen megabyte sidescroller selling for £5.99 can so effectively entrance this gamer!? A capital fellow (by most accounts) fully capable of enjoying low-brow shootybang manshoot entertainment, no pretentious goon chasing the profound and transcendent?!

Madness.

A sign of the end times.

Mark my words, Harold Camping will have his day in the sun yet. THE SUN OF THE LORD'S WRATH! Terraria is the first Omen!

Now, before the men in white jackets manage to kick the last chain-lock off my door, remember; YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST. Remember me when writing your guest-list for the Rapture!

 - Jack has been remanded in custardy for his own saf- Oh more, pour it on, oh yes, thick, liquidy yellow joy!