(Of course, sometimes a nice sneeze is worth 99 cents. The icon alone, of a green mold with googly eyes, would be worth my 99 cents. (No pudding, you ask? Wackelpudding, in Germany, is the name of a gelatin dessert, often lime, shaped like a bundt cake.) Your task: lay down track pieces and use power-ups to escape a ride haunted by skeletons, witches, and other creepy crawlies. Then, the coup de grâce: I learned you play as a jiggling mold of gelatin on an out-of-control ghost-train. I could be slinging handfuls of chocolatey sludge at diabetic zombies in some deranged version of Burger Time I might be mixing ingredients in a bowl and plating desserts in a resource management game like Diner Dash. So when I heard of a new iOS title called The Great Jitters: Pudding Panic, by German developer kunst-stoff, I knew I had to have it, sight unseen. The impact of a game’s name is almost as essential as the actual content. Names differentiate a single object from its surrounding environment. In the world of mobile downloads, where dozens if not hundreds of new applications arrive daily, one game’s release is like the brokenhearted mourning in a kayak: to the ocean, your tears are just more salt water. Browse the App Store and a title’s importance becomes clear. In the gaming world, a litany of titles are launched or announced every week, and the first piece of information transmitted to potential players is often a name. That wooden thing with leaves on top could be called anything-salamander, saccharine, shopping cart-but it was named Tree, so that is what it is. In theory, they mean nothing: an arbitrary collection of graphemes pronounced in a certain way. It’s a peculiar cruelty of the universe that names, an identifier almost always chosen by the one not being identified, ascribe so much power to their antecedent. Whenever I hear the name Margo, I imagine a chubby girl with braces.
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