I've probably rewritten the opening to this ten times over the span of an hour, all the while alternating my attention from cult classic Swingers on the television and that absolutely atrocious rendering of the king of the apes that you see featured above you. Since I'm getting a little tired of the writer's block I'll resort to the cheap trick that I always do: Herein I'll relate more of my past experiences to you.

Donkey Kong Country was one of the formative experiences of my Super Nintendo career, thanks in part to a $10 sale on videogames at a local video store. Encompassed in such classics as Earthworm Jim and the seminal SuperFX game Vortex came this little tale of monkey love. I know it might surprise you, but back in the day I actually had some form of tolerance for playing games like this to the actual end.

Nowadays I just look at boxes and imagine how the game would be. By making up my own stories I not only save myself time, but create a more productive game experience for myself. You see, my fictitious platform game experiences include less bottomless pits and more ham sandwiches than the average Donkey Kong adventure might necessarily entail. Also, my ham sandwiches have mustard, which is not always a given with pork.

Sometimes, slothful fellow that I am, I can't even be bothered to go to those lengths. I'm no longer a child of fourteen playing with my tiny plastic controller. When I'm too lazy to even imagine what a game might be like (with the inclusion of ham) I just sublimate my urge by going onto whatever videogame remix site is convenient and downloading mixes at random. The problem with remixes is this: unless you know the title of your favorite song from Game X you have no idea whether or not it's something that would even appeal to you in your basest form.

Well, there's one other indicator. A smart man will recognize a compelling title when he sees one. Thrash the Plank should be all you need to hear to understand what an experience this song is. The jungle beat of the drums is mere prelude to guitar excitement at 0'30. A little tease, like a pretty lady in silky negligee, the guitars fade to a warbling hum. They're not ready to come back in full until 0'50 and it's not until the one minute mark that they truly feel comfortable freaking out. There's nothing that even needs to be said from that point forward. It's too easy to just sit back and let the freaky riffs wash over you. It's no ham sandwich, it's no $10 video game, but it'll get you there just the same.

But Could I Drive To This?: Once I was traveling in a car with my stalwart companion, Jerome. Jerry has what some might call an inexplicable, unquenchable desire for discovery. As this tune came to the stereo via my friendly mp3 player Jerry's hand raised to silence me. He forced himself to listen, to dig deeply into the very essence of the song. As the man tried to divine the source of the melody he would roll the clues around his tongue like fine wine, "I see mountains..." He would quip. Then, with a sudden 'ah ha', Jerry's finger stabbed the air, "Donkey Kong Country!" He exclaimed with the fervor of a dying sun. I'm certain if he had the room he would've leapt to his feet with the energy of his discovery. Could you ever need more encouragement than that?