Two short years ago, when I learned that there were going to be not one, but six new Sam and Max games, I was ecstatic. In the brief period of time I could have actually been considered a PC gamer, I subsisted primarily on the Lucasarts brand of PC adventure games, and Sam and Max Hit the Road was one of my favorites. But today, the final episode of Sam and Max Season 2 sits on my desktop, where it has been unclicked for months and will probably remain so until I force myself to play through it on some day where I'm not burdened with responsibility. That's right: "force." What the hell happened to me?
I've been in love with Sam and Max even before I played their original game; Steve Purcell's art style, along with a great mix of film noir send-up and absurdist humor made the duo immediately appealing to me. So, in the 90s, I bought their game, somehow managed to get my hands on the original printing of the trade paperback (no one was murdered, I swear), and watched the mostly-okay cartoon on Fox Kids for the whole year the network decided to air it. Thus, my Sam and Max fanhood should not be called into question. But these days, I can't find myself caring too much about these beloved figures from my adolescence.
Have I merely grown up, or is something foul afoot?
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