Or he would be if my role model weren’t actually Steven Spielberg’s Freakazoid.
People don’t read newspapers anymore, they just eat pizza.
Food Boy should be called Pizza Boy, of course.
My working thesis is that either Food Boy or his world are made of antimatter.
Fortunately, Food Boy has weapons to wield against these pie-eyed maniacs.
His weapons are: pizza.
Look, Food Boy didn’t ask to be born into this hateful, contradictory cosmos.
Food Boy’s greatest foes, however, are the twerkers.
The whole thing is just, deeply mysterious to me.
Food Boy isn’t a great game, though it has a certain flair.
Can somebody do one for 90s Yorkshire next?
Because I have much advice to give.
I’m pretty sure I could flatten a twerker with a Sunday paper.
