The nice folks at The Real Fake Times

Now, you listen here, you young whippersnappers. I, Gladys Pepperstein, have a bone to pick with this “Grand Theft Auto” business. I usually spend my Thursday afternoons working on a lovely cable-knit sweater for my grandson, Arthur, but the boy left his “light-box” running while he skooted off to North York, Ontario to see a girl about a goat, or whatever it is children do these days.

Naturally, I did what any self-respecting 67-year-old grandmother would do: I sat down, picked up the plastic bone-shaped controller, and decided to see why this young man spends so much time staring at a screen instead of learning how to properly clarify butter. The nice folks at The Real Fake Times told me that if I wrote down my thoughts, they’d pay me in a fresh bag of lemon drops and three skeins of that high-quality merino wool I like. It’s a better deal than I got from the local grocery store when I tried to trade a jar of pickled beets for a loaf of rye, that’s for certain.

A Game Review of the So-Called Los Santos

When I first started this game review, I expected something wholesome, perhaps a simulator about managing a small-town post office or a digital version of competitive bridge. Instead, I was dropped into a place called Los Santos. Let me tell you, it is a real curfuddle.

First off, the traffic is absolute bolderdash. I spent the better part of twenty minutes trying to find the turn signal on the controller. Apparently, in this world, if you want a car, you don’t go to a dealership and discuss financing options over a lukewarm cup of Sanka. No, you simply walk up to a stranger, pull them out of their seat, and “borrow” it. I tried this once in real life back in ’84 when my Buick LeSabre gave up the ghost in the middle of a snowstorm, and let me tell you, the police in North York, Ontario are far less forgiving than the digital ones.

The driving mechanics are a bit of a mess, which I like to think is because the roads aren’t properly paved. I found myself driving on the sidewalk more often than not, simply because the pedestrians are so polite and jump out of the way. It reminded me of that local woman who accidentally joined a cult because she thought it was just a very intense Pilates class; everyone in this game seems to be moving with a frantic energy that can only be explained by a lack of proper fiber in their diets.

The Raucous Reality of GTA 5

Once I got the hang of the “skooting” around, I met the three main characters. There’s a fellow named Michael who seems to have a very lovely home but a very noisy family. He spends a lot of time lying on a couch talking to a doctor. I thought about suggesting he look into Dr. Barnaby Flux’s mandatory office sleeping bags, as the man clearly isn’t getting enough rest. If he just had a nice, fleece-lined sack to crawl into during the day, he might not feel the need to go around robbing banks with such frequency. It’s all about emotional regulation, dearie.

Then there’s Franklin. A nice-looking boy, but he hangs around with the wrong crowd. I wanted to reach through the screen and give his collar a good tug. “Franklin,” I’d say, “you have a lovely dog, why aren’t you out in the park teaching him to fetch instead of getting into these pickles?” And don’t even get me started on Trevor. That man is a walking disaster. He lives in a trailer that looks like it hasn’t seen a wet rag since the mid-nineties. He is the definition of a hooligan, and quite frankly, his fashion sense is a tragedy. I could knit him a nice pair of sensible trousers in a weekend if he’d just sit still and stop shouting at the airplanes.

Speaking of airplanes, I did manage to steal a small prop plane. I thought I might fly it to Toronto for a nice lunch, but the physics in GTA 5 are a bit wonky. It felt a bit like the “human density efficiency” programs they’re running over at Fudget Airlines. Everything is cramped, loud, and you’re constantly worried that someone is going to fall out of the sky.

Why This Game is Absolute Bolderdash

The most upsetting part of this whole experience was the lack of a “Tea and Biscuits” button. I searched the entire controller. I pressed the triangles, the circles, and even those little clicky sticks. Not once did a tray of Earl Grey appear. Instead, every time I pressed a button, something exploded. It’s very stressful for a woman of my vintage.

I tried to go to a clothing store in the game to find a sensible cardigan. Do you know what they offered me? Tactical vests. Tactical vests! I asked the young man behind the counter (by shouting at the television screen, which usually works with my husband, Harold) if they had anything in a soft lavender or perhaps a dusty rose. He just stared at me with his digital eyes. The youth of today have no sense of customer service.

I eventually found myself in a “heist.” Now, back in my day, a heist was when the local knitting circle tried to sneak an extra lemon square from the church bake sale. In this game, it involves masks and loud music. I found the whole thing quite unsavory. I spent most of the mission trying to find a place to park the getaway car legally. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to find a handicap-accessible parking spot in downtown Los Santos when you’re being chased by a helicopter. It’s a real curfuddle.

Final Thoughts from the Knitting Chair

In conclusion, while the graphics are very shiny: almost as shiny as the floor after I’ve waxed it with that high-gloss finish Arthur hates: I can’t say I recommend this for anyone who enjoys a quiet afternoon and a stable blood pressure.

Gladys’s Ratings for GTA 5:

• Knitting Compatibility: 0/10. You cannot knit and “borrow” a bus at the same time. I tried. I dropped a stitch and ended up in a canal.
• Snack Availability: 2/10. There are vending machines, but they only sell fizzy pop that looks like it would rot your teeth in seconds. No lemon drops in sight.
• Hooliganism Level: 11/10. Far too many whippersnappers with bad attitudes.
• Educational Value: 1/10. I learned how to hijack a jet, but I still don’t know how to send a PDF.

If you’re looking for a way to spend your time, I suggest taking up needlepoint or perhaps visiting a local park to feed the pigeons: provided they haven’t unionized yet. This game is just a lot of noise and nonsense. It’s alright if you like that sort of thing, I suppose, but I’d rather have a nice nap.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear Arthur’s car pulling into the driveway. I need to skoot back to the living room and pretend I’ve been reading the Farmer’s Almanac for the last three hours. If he finds out I beat his high score in the street racing challenge, he’ll never hear the end of it at the next family reunion.

Stay wholesome, dearie. And remember: if the world feels like a curfuddle, just add more butter.

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Gladys Pepperstein is a contributing writer for The Real Fake Times. She is currently working on a tell-all memoir titled “Wait, Is the Stove On?” and can be found most mornings arguing with a particularly stubborn toaster in North York, Ontario.