Ben Croshaw
British-born Australian based game designer.
No book critic has ever tried to assess the Old Testament. Maybe they should. I did once. It's a crap story and it's very badly written. (Where God Went Wrong)
Don't you think it's weird how so many awards these days look like rough crystal formations freshly carved from the rock? Oh I guess you wouldn't know because YOU DON'T WIN AWARDS (25 April 2009)
I had written a beautiful piece for today. It was a rant about how much I despise Halloween. It was witty, well-written and a shining example of a writer at the top of his form. Then I tried to save it, and my computer crashed. So I guess you won't get to read it. Out of all the people in the world, I am the only one who had the opportunity to read my brilliant Halloween article, and now the text is already fading from my cruel, cruel short-term memory, the paragraphs lost in a whirling sea of data, never to be seen again. (31 October 2002)
It all smacks of trying to have your cake and eat it, although I’ve never understood that phrase. I don’t know what else you could do with a cake. Hold doors open, maybe. (6 March 2006)
What was your favourite single player Quake level? One of the forty identical greenish-brown castles or one of the forty identical brownish-green castles? (2 December 2004)
I haven't really commented on the whole Steve Irwin thing. Since I live in the country he arguably embodied this seems like a tragic oversight. I mean, he was Australian, I live in Australia, he wrestled crocodiles, I pick my nose a lot, it was like losing a little part of me or something. But when that stingray broke his little heart and a nation was united in grief - or at least a media was - I kept conspicuously silent. I even had some prepared witticisms I could have used, like "I bet the crocodiles are pissed off that they never got around to it first" or "The guy who went for 'stingray' in the 'animal by which Steve Irwin will one day be killed' betting pool is pretty fucking happy right now". (16 October 2006)
...you could pick any two writers of equal skill, have them read each other's work, and they would both instantly proclaim each other the champion. Unless one of them happens to be Stephen King, because he's a jerk. (God Ran Out of Faces)
I'm not a great judge of my own work, me. I'm constantly referring to the ZP Wikiquote page to find out for myself what the funniest line that week was.
...so come along and watch me fearfully from fifty yards away like you usually do. (6 September 2009)
At this time I was hesitant to venture into the greenery, because I wasn't keen on the possibility of having spiders the size of basketballs drop onto my face from overhead branches and refuse to let go. (...) Hunger pains were moving to the 'excruciating' stage by mid-morning. After a last-ditch attempt to extract nutrients from filling my mouth with sand, I decided that, if a big spider the size of a basketball dropped onto my face and tried to eat it, I would eat it back and we could turn the whole thing into an exciting competition. (Chapter Two)
...at the end of the day, nothing makes me feel more positive than something I can get really pissed off about.
But as any sixteen-year-old sweatily bringing a Playboy up to the counter of a newsagent's expecting everyone in the room to suddenly point and start screaming like the guy from Invasion of the Body Snatchers will tell you, titties become considerably more satisfying when you have to work for them. (26 December 2010)
I seem to have gathered a reputation for being a jerk in real life, because frankly fans make me uncomfortable. Complete strangers come up and talk to me like they've known me their whole lives, and for that reason I can seem a bit stand-offish... No, the whole "fan" thing confuses me.
I love having my conscious brain deactivated by a mindless repetitive task and the rest of it drifting off into the wonderful lands of make believe. (3 April 2007)
Also, you can't prove that there isn't a ghost of Bagpuss hovering right behind your head as you read this. He's right there, man! No, he disappeared right after you turned your head. I swear he's there. Look, he's back again now! (Meet the Crazy Moon Man)
Greek mythology tells us that the Gods invented woman as a punishment after man got a hold of some stolen goods. Obviously, this was just the mythological explanation given by the primitive early men to explain the real origin of women, which was this: THEY CAME DOWN IN SPACESHIPS. Yes, all women are space aliens who have come from a far-off galaxy to enslave mankind. (Ask Yahtzee)
All I can say is this: either every single member of that army had been promised a blow job of the Gods as soon as they got their queen back, or the Greeks invented brainwashing. (On the Greeks and the Trojan War, 31 May 2004)
The presence of The Sean has a tendency to taint a film, I find, because he is never his character; he's always just The Sean. (The Leauge of Extraordinary Gentlemen)
I'd just like to point out that Billy Joel looks like the result of a depraved breeding experiment between Ringo Starr and the tall bloke from Everybody Loves Raymond. (7 July 2004)
You couldn't make this any smaller without needing a sewing needle and magnifying glass to work it. I'm tempted to see if I can swallow it, and belch the White Album all the way home. (On his iPod Shuffle, 5 June 2007)