Upsetting Day: Dear Gamepro, I Am A Fucking Psychopath 🌭

You know who used to write letters to GamePro magazine? Lonely, crazy, weird people. People who... you know, that's probably enough intro. I think you get where this is going. I went through the letters section of 80 issues of GamePro and this article is called

Chris Reynolds from Alton, IL makes a good point, but the producers of Mortal Kombat already made a video game where players whimsically slaughter their enemies. Chris thinks they never considered tearing off a human head and baking it? Those are probably the second biggest words on their idea board after "DEAD BODY SEX?" This is like asking People magazine to tell Quentin Tarantino he should do a movie about foot sucking.

This person wrote to a magazine to ask why they don't answer questions about Kirby's Dream Land for the Gameboy without asking his question about Kirby's Dream Land for the Gameboy. Kyle from Lorain is at least two more steps and six months away from learning what he desperately needs to know about Kirby's Dream Land for the Gameboy. And from what we know about his brain's logic center, Kyle could definitely decide everyone is hiding the Kirby's Dream Land for the Gameboy secrets on the inside of their skin, their tender skin.

"Hi, you fucking sons of bitches. My friend's dad is pretty racist when he talks about cars, but I'm not old enough to drive. Can I apply this same racism to any of my hobbies? It seems fun to go berserk."

Ryan Cameron was confused by a Nietzsche quote and had no one in his life but GamePro magazine to ask about it. He was literally outsmarted by a Mortal Kombat 3 ad, a game targeted at children who think you should tear off human heads and cook them. Then he went out of his way to tell a media outlet about it and spelled the name of his hometown wrong. In this world of poorly marked household poisons, there is no chance Ryan Cameron lived long enough to read GamePro magazine's explanation of what Nietzsche was.

A lot of idiots think they hold the decisive argument in a wedge issue like video game censorship. But it takes a very special idiot to think the answer is visible, persistent corpses. Think about it: lingering, rotting remains any time an enemy is killed. Just imagine it-- the dead wouldn't explode, but collapse still clinging to life and bleed out. You could watch the light leave their eyes as they gave up, and then their bodies would stay. Their bodies wouldn't disappear, no. No, you could, just imagine it, do anything. Just imagine it.

Oh my god. Oh my god, is this what it was like before you could buy Bridgette Wilson's bath water over the Internet?

I think even at age 12 you know you've retired from sex when you write in to GamePro magazine to tell them the full name of the hottest girl in your school, and basically nothing else. Mike Woods from Southgate wrote in to say, "I beat PacLand on TurboGrafx 16 and I will never, ever know the touch of a woman especially Jaime M▮▮▮s who is so hot, and could easily get a restraining order should you print this. Also, what's a Nietzsche? Does it know how I can get in touch with breakout star of Billy Madison, Bridgette Wilson?"

This motherfucker and his friend, between the two of them, did not have the breadth of learning to understand the concept of a unicycle video game's staff credits. And as you can see, their letter was written from "Internet," the very place they could have Netcrawlered, "Why does my Super Nintendo's unicycle have a human head for a seat, also Jaime M▮▮▮s beach swimsuit bikini photos?"

Arturo climbed through Freddie Sanchez's window at 3am and shook him awake. "Freddy! Wake up! I need to draw you as Wolverine!"

Freddy climbed out of bed to give Arturo his good side and a slight smirk. "And then what?" he asked.

"Then I sent it to GamePro magazine, no context. No reason. Just you as Wolverine and it says SUPER FREDDY."

"That's not how you spell my name," said Freddie.

"I know!" screamed Arturo. "THIS IS IT, FREDDY! THIS IS OUR SHOT!" With a series of grunts he strained his head downward, mouth agape.

"You'll never get it that way," said Freddie "SUPER FREDDY" Sanchez. "Here, lay down, I'll push up from below at the same time. He didn't get it that way, either.

This is how lore in video games used to work. You picked a brave fighter and then you wrote to a print publication to ask for details about their backstory. "Dear Kenneth: Golden Axe's very own Tyris Flare has really taken to small plot gardening! Sure 'beets' fighting the sinister Death Adder!"

"Dear GamePro, do you know where Kylie Minogue keeps her laundry? Also, do you know if Tyris Flare from Golden Axe has any non-gardening interests? What's her address?"

Okay, what the fuck. Why were horny nerds constantly asking GamePro to help them get in touch with actresses? Of all the people in the entire world, why would seven video game reviewers in San Mateo know how to ask Tia Carrere for a favor? There's no coherent joke to be made about this-- it's only nonsense too sad to be silly. It's like writing to Michael Jackson's estate to see if they know any female prisons with lots of redheads. Or maybe it's like putting your address on the remains of Michael Jackson and throwing them over the wall of a female prison. How could anyone know? This is fucking nuts.

So if I'm understanding you correctly, GamePro, you did a bit where "Members of the Hedgehog species" weren't allowed to enter a Sonic the Hedgehog contest. Cute. It's a joke any middle-aged brunch evite writer could stand proudly by. But then you printed a letter from someone who took your bit and ran it into the goddamn ground? Did you think your forgettable irreverence was going to hold up to this kind of public dissection? Look at every last morsel of joy get stripped from the bones of your hollow zaniness, GamePro. This lonely, smooth-brained child accidentally mocked the dumbest shit you ever said five different ways and you published it.

Holy shit, GamePro, you did it again. Do you have any idea the damage you have done encouraging someone with a sense of humor this bad? This poor bastard probably grew up to explain to new coworkers how things around here can get pretty crazy, like the time he spent the whole day -the whole day- as Will Farrell's Robert Goulet.

After reading 80 issues of GamePro's mail section, I can tell you the most universal trait of its readers is a contempt of bloodless murder. More than their shared death march of comedic timing, more than their need for Kylie Minogue's address-- these sad people wanted violence and they wanted it red and wet. Bruce Richter of Lyons does not pay big bucks for milk blood! But speaking of milk blood, Bruce Richter of Lyons will buy plastic bags of either one if you can prove it came from your mother!

"What's your favorite way to kill someone in Mortal Kombat 3?" would have been a completely ordinary thing to ask a child in 1995, and GamePro did. The answer they received the most was "Sheeva's Skin Ripper" and the screenshot they chose was a man being butchered in a spray of liquified organs. At no point in the editorial process did anyone think, "This is cartoonishly insane, right?" Because it wasn't. It was our normal. And GamePro readers got pissed off even considering the idea of a world where enemies didn't burst into bloody parts. Look at this:

They printed letters like this every issue for years. Their readers wanted blood and anyone who didn't was a fool who could be easily defeated with blood logic. It was weird to be this enthusiastic about violence. In fact, it was weird enough I tracked them all down to see if any of them grew up to be murderers. They couldn't have known this in the early '90s, but giving someone with even remedial research skills a child's full name and hometown is more than enough to track their entire life's journey in seconds. Even the truly scary NBA Jam specialists GamePro warned me to "watch out for."

I was happy to learn every single one of these readers slobbering for violence during childhood grew up to lead normal, non-murdering lives. And oh man, you better bet your ass Jaime M▮▮▮s can still fucking get it.

Hello Weekend 🖤 you too, girl. Guys, I'm honestly so glad she's still alive.

This is one of the very, very, very few anti-violence letters GamePro ever printed. Eighteen-year-old Brian Foster of Mobile was disgusted by our violent culture. The Mortal Kombat fatalities almost made him puke! Far from explaining why ripping off someone's skin was just and awesome, he was hoping someone would stop these monsters. Anyway, let's check in on how he's doing. Oh. Oh, no.

This isn't a bit! I actually looked up all these deranged, forsaken GamePro readers thinking some of them would grow up to act on the violence they championed as children, and they are all just "Sales Engineers" at flyover state grocery stores. The only one -the only one- who became a monster was, of course, the one sanctimonious little shit hoping someone would take away the video game blood. Keep in mind this isn't science-- I didn't prove anything here! Don't cite this as evidence for how every moralizing televangelist has definitely done something. They have! All of them! Pat Robertson has 100% performed a Cookality on every unattended baby he has ever come upon!

I thought we should end on a GamePro reader exactly as monstrous, but in a more fun way. This piece of trash rhymed "Ken" with "win." Kyle Robertson of Arlington, Texas is either the world's bravest scientist researching how bad rap has to be before you die from it, or a bucket of diarrhea that learned to type. If someone told you this was a page from Anne Frank's diary you would side with Hitler. Of all the horny losers who debated the benefits of spurting decapitations or really needed to talk to Kylie Minogue, it's obvious you're the worst, Kyle Robertson. And then GamePro asked for more! How dare you, GamePro. And how dare you, GamePro readers.

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This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme, Matt Cortez: who craves blood, so much pixelated blood and flesh flesh FLESH, like a normal. Like the normals do.