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... and shit, I think that might be it. Unless you find the Big Daddies from BioShock utterly huggable, that is.

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They're good with kids, so that's a plus.

Honestly, though, Big Daddy, Master Chief (Halo's 7-foot, half-ton-in-armor, mute military man), and all their gritty compadres have become the new mascots. It's like companies realized that people like me, who grew up on their endless parade of digital thumb-wrestling matches, had given up the controller in favor of work and family. They had two options: pay me a couple thousand bucks a week to just sit on my butt and play all day, or offer me grown-up sprites to gawk at because I'm mature now. Sadly, they chose Option B, although A's always on the table. I'll even take one thousand. I'm not greedy.

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I can't help but fear that game companies are shooting themselves in the dick by ignoring the new generation of kids who still like colorful cartoony shit. I see my son happily playing New Super Mario Bros. and wonder how much he'd enjoy a dump-truck load of cutesy characters straight out of the Nickelodeon reject bin, like I did at his age.

Then I see him use the Super Guide to finish a stage without doing anything, and I get depressed all over again. Then I go outside for a while. It's probably for the best.

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"Sit on chair and press DRINK ALL THE BEER to enjoy sunset and advance to next level."

Jason Iannone's just kidding about going outside; he would never do anything that silly. Follow him on Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr, which are all conveniently indoors.

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