So, my pair of “happy” pinatas have just gone into their “pinata house” and done a “romance dance” (which involved breakdancing to something that sounded suspiciously like a porno-funk soundtrack). Now there’s an egg containing a baby pinata in my garden. As a result, I’ve just received an award for being a Pinata Breeder.

Later on, I have to encourage one of my bird-esque pinata to eat one of the worm-esque pinata that I’ve so lovingly caused to be conceived, born and raised to maturity. Can we say “emotional trauma”?

What are kids gonna learn from this? “Life might look pretty, but when it comes down to it, it’s basically just sex and death”?

This game is pretty twisted, right there.

Awesome, though.

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