Experience 3D gaming like it’s supposed to be—no goofy glasses, no headaches, just pure depth-popping goodness. In this video, I dive into the Abxylute 3D One, the world’s first glasses-free 3D PC handheld. We’re talking crisp stereoscopic visuals, PC game compatibility and whether this thing is the next big leap in handheld gaming or just a wild science-fair flex.
I’ll show you how the 3D effect looks, how games run, what works, what… doesn’t, and whether this futuristic little gadget is worth your cash. If you’re into retro, PC gaming, weird tech, or just love a good gimmick that actually works, this one’s for you.
Saddle up, partner — Outlaws + Handful of Missions Remaster just rode back into town looking sharper than a cactus in 4K at 60 frames per yeehaw. The once grainy gunslingers are now high-resolution heroes, with weapons, characters, and varmints all glammed up using archived art and the full rainbow of color palettes — because even outlaws deserve to look fabulous.
The cutscenes? Completely uncompressed, like your uncle’s opinions about modern gaming.
And for those looking to prove they’re the fastest clicker in the West, there’s Cross-Play Multiplayer — featuring Deathmatch, Team Play, Capture the Flag, and the legendary Kill The Fool With The Chicken, a mode that’s exactly as ridiculous and glorious as it sounds.
Ride again, cowboy — but this time, in HD glory.
Sierra On-Line was the video game company that taught an entire generation two valuable lessons: 1) save early, and 2) save often, because you were probably about to die from looking at a squirrel the wrong way.
This was the house that built adventure gaming — a magical kingdom of pixelated peril where typing “open door” could lead to either a romantic subplot or instant death by snake. Sierra games didn’t just test your puzzle-solving skills; they tested your patience, your spelling, and your ability to recover emotionally from being eaten by a troll again.
The company’s founders, Ken and Roberta Williams, basically invented “clicking things until something happens” — a noble art form that would later become the backbone of modern productivity software. Their titles like King’s Quest, Space Quest, and Leisure Suit Larry gave players everything from fairy-tale heroism to intergalactic janitorial work to… whatever Larry was doing.
Sierra On-Line wasn’t just a game publisher — it was a digital boot camp that toughened gamers for life. You didn’t just play Sierra games. You survived them.
The Xbox is the gigantic, neon-lit refrigerator of the gaming world—massive, powerful, and somehow always humming in the living room like it’s plotting to overtake your entertainment center. Microsoft built it with one philosophy in mind: “More power. Also… would you like Game Pass with that?”
Owning an Xbox means having access to more games than you could play in three lifetimes, but still scrolling for 45 minutes before saying, “Eh… I’ll just replay Halo again.” And if you do play Halo, you instinctively slam your fists on the controller like it’s 2007 and Master Chief personally requires your emotional support.
Sure, the naming conventions are a fever dream (Xbox One, One X, Series X, Series S, X-but-not-that-X), but that’s part of the charm. Xbox is the platform that says, “We know you’re confused, but here—play everything ever made, in 4K, at 120fps. And seriously… just get Game Pass.”
Think you know every computer game? Think again! I’m diving into the weird, wild, and overlooked world of games you (probably) never knew existed—obscure gems, bizarre experiments, and hidden titles that might just surprise you! WATCH >> https://youtu.be/gPjvhuOs0cQ
GAMES SHOWN:
Homey d. Clown
Revenge of Defender
Beatle Quest
Star Trek BORG
Jaws
Rendezvous with Rama
Psycho: Arcade Quest
Conan
Collecting big box PC games is like adopting a litter of cardboard dinosaurs—massive, glorious, and completely impractical in the modern world. Each one is a shrine to an era when game publishers believed that bigger boxes meant bigger fun, stuffing them with floppy disks, manuals thick enough to stop a bullet, and maybe a novelty item like a cloth map or a fake decoder ring. Shelving them is a workout; one trip to the thrift store can transform your living room into a structural engineering problem. Friends will marvel at your shelf of three-foot-wide neon rectangles while silently wondering if you’re preparing for some kind of retro computer apocalypse.
But oh, the dopamine hit when you crack open a box and find pristine install floppies and a glossy manual that smells faintly of 1996 carpet glue. It’s part history, part treasure hunt, and part self-inflicted storage crisis. You’ll pay five bucks for a game you’ll never play just because the box art features a wizard holding a CD-ROM like the Holy Grail. And while modern gamers brag about terabytes of digital libraries, you can smugly point to your fortress of cardboard and say, “These games don’t just live in the cloud—they are the cloud, if the cloud weighed forty pounds and smelled faintly of basement nostalgia.”
Touchscreens are basically the tech world’s way of saying: “What if we let people poke a sheet of glass and pretend it understands them?”
Here’s the magic: Your phone screen is coated with an invisible grid of tiny electrical fields. When your fleshy, sausage-like finger touches it, you disturb the force—like a clumsy Jedi—and the phone goes, “Ah yes, this greasy smear right here is a command!”
It’s called capacitive sensing, but in reality, it feels like sorcery. Your finger conducts electricity ever so slightly, and the screen triangulates your touch with more precision than a cat deciding exactly which object to knock off the counter.
Of course, the system has its quirks:
Works perfectly when you barely brush the screen.
Completely ignores you if your hands are cold, wet, or gloved—basically any condition where you actually need it to work.
Loves to register phantom “ghost touches,” so sometimes your phone just decides to call your boss at 2 a.m. because of a single speck of pocket lint.
So in short: modern touchscreens are an elegant blend of physics and wizardry, designed to make you feel powerful when you pinch-zoom a cat meme… and powerless when you can’t hit the right letter in your password on the first try.
Collecting big box PC games is basically the nerd equivalent of hoarding Fabergé eggs — except instead of jeweled treasures, you’ve got a wall of cardboard bricks the size of cereal boxes that once contained a single floppy disk and 200 pages of manuals.
There’s something magical about them, though. Modern games give you a digital download code; big box games gave you a phone book of installation instructions, a map, a novella explaining the backstory, and maybe even a floppy with “shareware” just to tease you. Buying Myst back then felt like adopting a small library.
The boxes themselves are a workout program. Stack a few dozen on a shelf and suddenly you’re living inside a Jenga tower of DOS-era nostalgia. Move apartments? Congratulations, you’ve just volunteered to carry 75 pounds of King’s Quest across town. And of course, the one you want is always on the top shelf, behind Flight Simulator 98 and Oregon Trail Deluxe, so now you’re climbing like Indiana Jones in a temple made of cardboard.
And the collector’s mindset is hilarious: “Yes, I know I own Doom in every format ever made, but this one has the rare sticker variant AND the slightly less crushed corner. Totally worth $200.”
In the end, collecting big box PC games isn’t just about the games — it’s about preserving an era where packaging was bigger than the monitor you played it on. Plus, let’s be honest: half the joy is showing off to your friends like, “See this box? This one game required 12 floppy disks. TWELVE. Kids these days don’t know the struggle.”
Oliver Mackenzie (Digital Foundry) does his best to run the latest triple-A games on Valve’s handheld. Which games run well? Which games run well and look decent? And which games are indeed simply ‘Too Big’ for Steam Deck? Does a more powerful handheld like the Asus ROG Ally power past the Deck’s problems?
The Valve Steam Deck, aka Gabe Newell’s love letter to PC gamers who secretly wanted a Nintendo Switch but were too proud to admit it. This chonky handheld beast is basically a gaming PC crammed into a device the size of a grilled cheese sandwich on steroids—portable enough to take anywhere, but still big enough to make your wrists question your life choices after an hour of Elden Ring.
What Makes It Special?
Runs your entire Steam library—which means you can finally ignore 90% of the games you impulse-bought during a Steam sale… on the go!
Has trackpads! Because Valve still believes that trackpads are the future, despite a decade of gamers collectively going, “Ehh…”
Customizable as heck—want to install Windows? Emulators? A toaster simulator? Go wild.
“Portable,” but in a “you might need a dedicated backpack for it” kind of way.
The Downsides?
Battery life is… negotiable. Playing a high-end game? Congrats, you have about 90 minutes before your Deck turns into an expensive paperweight.
It’s big. Like, big big. Holding one is like gripping a sci-fi weapon from a movie where The Rock has to save the world.
Linux-based OS, which is great if you love tinkering, but if you’re just trying to play games, you’ll occasionally feel like you’ve been thrown into IT Tech Support mode.
Final Verdict?
The Steam Deck is a glorious, slightly impractical marvel—perfect for anyone who wants to game anywhere, anytime, and develop forearms like a Greek statue in the process. It’s the closest thing we have to a true portable gaming PC, and for that, we salute Valve. Now if only they’d make Half-Life 3…
The OneXPlayer G1 is like a gaming laptop and a Steam Deck had a wild night out and accidentally created a boxy, overpowered handheld that can run Cyberpunk 2077 and give you a forearm workout. It’s the device for people who think, “Sure, I want portability—but I also want all the frames, a full keyboard, and a controller that cramps.” MORE INFO: https://bit.ly/43qnp59
The Elder Scrolls II: Daggerfall is what happens when a game studio says, “Let’s make an RPG so massive that players will never see the whole thing, and then let’s make it brutally unforgiving just for fun.” Released in 1996, Daggerfallgives you a world roughly the size of Great Britain, filled with thousands of towns, dungeons, and NPCs who seem to have taken a solemn vow to never give clear directions. You’ll start off as a wannabe hero who can barely swing a sword, only to be thrown into a world where rats and bats can absolutely wreck you in a dark dungeon that looks suspiciously like an Escher painting. And good luck climbing out of a pit without breaking both legs, because gravity in Daggerfall takes no prisoners.
Then there’s the game’s infamous randomness. Quests are generated like a medieval fantasy fever dream—one moment, you’re fetching a lost family heirloom; the next, you’re realizing the heirloom is in a dungeon the size of a small city, filled with angry skeletons and hallways that loop back on themselves just to mess with you. But the real magic of Daggerfall is in its janky yet ambitious mechanics—like the ability to turn into a werewolf, climb walls like Spider-Man, and buy property in almost every city (though good luck paying taxes). It’s a game where you can get lost, both figuratively and literally, for hundreds of hours, and despite all its quirks, it remains a beloved, beautifully chaotic masterpiece of old-school RPG design.
