Well, it’s been a hellish two weeks, RPS. This week’s S.EXE comes to you from the heart of one of Europe’s most beautiful and sexually liberal cities, Amsterdam, where I am sat with a glass of Pinot Blanc, bread and some sort of Gouda, watching the internet try to hack away at the self-esteem, security, and self-belief of women who make and talk about games. I know it got to me: I sent a message to a colleague to ask his professional opinion. If I, a woman, wrote about a feminist game maker in this climate, would it be an irresponsible act?
I decided, with the gamemaker’s permission of course, to fuck all that worry to one side. It is not Regency England. Women do not need to ask a man’s permission to do fuck all, least of all worry what some anonymous ones on the internet think about anything. That’s what art is about: expressing what you want to. Let’s go on a journey into some real weird shit, RPS. Women are here. We are going to stay if we want to. We are going to talk about what we like. Today what I want to talk about is fucking chairs, fucking women, fucking men, and fucking monsters. If you don’t want to come that’s okay, but this here peculiar territory at 9pm is mine and no one else’s. This will not be safe for work. Let’s Fuck Everything.