A Poem On The Failures And Foibles Of Playing Rollercoaster Tycoon

2 12 2015

Rollercoaster Tycoon (Hasbro Interactive - 1999)

A couple of weeks ago; I wrote a poem in a Limerick format about the failures and foibles that can happen while playing the video game Rollercoaster Tycoon. So here it is. For a little more backstory; recently I have been replaying Rollercoaster Tycoon. I remember purchasing a copy of the game pretty much when it was first released in the 1990’s on the PC, but this copy is one that I purchased off GOG.com about 4 years ago. While playing it, some things happened to the customers in some of my parks that greatly affected my ability to win those levels. Though I should have grown out of and learned over the years that doing such things can cause issues for winning the game, I thought I would use that as inspiration for this little set of poems. They’re kind of bad (near Vogon Bad possibly), it was more a spur the moment kind of thing, kind of inspired by Jim and Yahtzee‘s Rhymedown Spectacular.

Anyway, Here is some Rollercoaster Tycoon inspired Poetry…..Enjoy.

RCT 2

I once built a monorail with a track of brown,

Thinking the exit was above the ground

Completely forgetting the math,

I forgot to build a path,

And as such everyone drowned.

RCT 3

I was in need of extra cash,

So I built a rollercoaster in a flash,

But I threw safety out the Window

And it was something I couldn’t undo,

And eventually it ended in a big crash.

RCT 1

Everyone was getting lost,

So I built a maze of paths at great cost,

Soon everyone got even more stuck,

So much so I would need to ship them out in a truck,

So I built a miniature railway (and even that didn’t solve the problem).

RCT 4

GENEPOOL (I know that last one did not end in a rhyme, but I ran out of ideas).

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Clash of Steel (Part 4)

25 07 2013

The Iron Giant

I was sitting down having a drink,

When a man burst in with his face all pink,

He tried to catch his breath,

Wheezing like the Black Death,

And what was that stink?

He said there was a man dripping in oil,

Outside and wearing a shiny suit of foil,

We ventured out of the club,

Leaving our portions of grub,

Looked up and saw the can beginning to boil.

The chap was right,

But the man was not all shiny and white,

He looked more like he was made of rust,

Almost ready to turn into dust,

It was like he had been bashed up in a bad fight.

What do we do with him?

This metal man all dim,

We could sell him for scrap,

Or turn him into a giant bear trap,

Anything else would have been done on a whim.

Then we looked across the yard,

Turning our eyes hard,

The last of four,

Let’s hope there is no more,

Then we turned around to see him put up his guard.

GENEPOOL








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