Kengo Zero < Poo.

Shit out a sequel will you?

Kengo Zero; a Japanese term: "to wank out a game worse than anything on any game console.. ever."

Seriously, I played Kengo, it's predecessor, on the Playstation 1, and while it wasn't the best game ever it did have fun potential and replay value. You could create your own character, then go from dojo to dojo, learn moves that you could then use to create your own string of attacks. In addition to this you could also improve your character's base stats such as speed, strength and health. Which is more than I can say for the liquid that ran down the crack of its predecessors arse and was left as a stain on the mattress (Hartman, G. Sgt., Full Metal Jacket, 1987) aka Kengo Zero.

I think loyal fans have been cheated.

Kengo Zero is like Kengo's demented, dumb ass little inbred cousin that Kengo doesn't like admitting it knows. I bought this game under the blind faith that with the X-Brick's superior everything, the creators of Kengo could have a hearty crack at making my inner-gamer FAP. The pile of West African monkey vomit presented gamers in the form of a game disc, elicits from me a strong want to return the game to the company with a large envelope of powder. While it wouldn't be ANTHRAX I feel it would adequately return the favour of presenting something that pretends to be something it isn't, the difference being; I will be providing it to them for free.

Kengo Zero starfishes in the virile, sexually dynamic world of console gaming. Offering you all the cool stuff like sexy exterior, and the hot older sister who baby sat you as a child. However unfortunately you get the kit off, you play around a little and you realise you're just not compatible in the boudoir.

The game is slow, repetitive, and boring. It's black and white with difficulty; what isn't easy to kill is insanely difficult. There is limited opportunity to grow and customise your character, it's style and attacks. There is some semblance of a mini-game area, however they are basically like Mexican food; the same ingredients just folded differently and called something new.

If you buy this, punch yourself in the tit and cry for your mama, cause aint no way cho munnies comin back. ...bitch.

With love.

Holy Bartender