You know what really gets me about this whole thing, the grass. That specific patch of grass. I'm still thinking about it three days later while I'm trying to send work emails on my phone and the image just pops back in. It's not even good grass, animation wise. It's this flat green smear, like someone drew it in MS Paint while distracted by a youtube video about the history of concrete. And yet, that's where the entire universe of this... game... collapses into its own punchline.

So Tarzan. He's just there, dick out, going at it with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever who found an unattended pillow. The animation loop is this janky, hypnotic piston motion. I watched it for an uncomfortably long time, not because it was hot, but because I was trying to figure out if his loincloth was just a part of his character model or a separate asset that was supposed to flap. It doesn't flap. It's just a brown triangle fused to his crotch. The whole thing has the energy of a Newgrounds submission from 2003 that someone forgot to finish, but in a way that circles back around to being genuinely funny. The joke is telegraphed from a mile away, of course. The "pussy in the grass" is, shockingly, not a pussy. It's a carnivorous plant. Or maybe just a regular plant with a bad attitude. The face Tarzan makes when he realizes... chef's kiss. Pure, unfiltered regret rendered in three frames of animation. I actually snorted.

It's a one-note joke stretched over a couple of minutes, a shitpost in interactive form. There's no gameplay. You don't do anything. You just watch this muscular idiot make a series of escalatingly bad decisions in the jungle. The sound design is what kills me, just these wet slapping noises that sound like someone stepping in mud, completely divorced from the visual action. I tried to show it to someone and the browser crashed. I think that's the intended experience, honestly. A perfect, stupid artifact.

You ever read a Tarzan comic and think, yeah, but what if the vine swinging was just foreplay? That's Betty Brickhouse. She's this blonde bombshell in a leopard print bikini that's basically body paint with ambition, flying through the jungle. And JD, this Tarzan knockoff with a permanent squint, is on her tail. The whole thing has that vibe of a comic you'd find on a sketchy site at 2 AM, the kind where the art looks like it was drawn with a single minded focus and absolutely no time spent on backgrounds. The jungle is just green smudges. Who cares.

The strip down happens fast. JD catches her, and there's no dialogue, no "me Tarzan, you confused," just grunts and the sound of a bikini top snapping. The sex scenes are the main course, obviously, and they cycle through positions with the mechanical dedication of a flipbook. There's one where she's bent over a log that's so conveniently placed it's almost a character itself. The whole thing is crude, the lines are thick, the anatomy goes a bit rubbery when things get intense. But it knows what it is. It's a delivery system for one thing, and it delivers with the subtlety of a coconut to the head. The sweat drops are drawn with the same weight as the jungle rain, which is a weirdly artistic choice I can't stop thinking about.

Then JD finishes, lights up a cigarette, and swings off into the canopy like he just clocked out of a shift. That's it. No cuddling, no vine-sharing. The post nut clarity must have hit him mid air. And then, the real star arrives. A chimpanzee. He pops up, makes the most unambiguously lewd gesture at Betty, and the comic ends. It's a punchline that comes out of nowhere and it's the funniest, most honest part of the whole thing. The game is basically that chimp's gesture, digitized. It's a messy, horny, single serving of a story that doesn't pretend to be anything else. I just wish the bikini stayed on a bit longer, the tease was the best part and it was over in three panels.

Brickhouse Betty’s noir episode hits like a cheap whiskey hangover. Black and white, grainy, like someone smeared vaseline on the lens. Betty gets snatched by Slappy, that rubber-faced bastard, and he’s not subtle about wanting her dead. Tarzan shows up because of course he does, swinging in with his loincloth and zero self awareness. The rescue is basically foreplay with extra steps. Then the reward. Betty’s pussy, described as sweet and juicy, which is about as poetic as a truck stop bathroom wall.

The humor tag is doing heavy lifting. Slappy’s dialogue reads like a villain from a cereal box contest. Tarzan grunts. Betty, for a damsel, has this deadpan expression that says she’s seen some shit. The adventure part is thin, more like a point and click where you click her clothes off. There’s a weird moment where Tarzan just stands there while Slappy monologues. I kept waiting for a QTE to throw a banana. Nothing.

The sex scene is fine. Functional. Betty’s tits bounce with the enthusiasm of a metronome. Tarzan’s dick appears from nowhere, no transition, just there. Like a magic trick nobody asked for. The noir filter makes everything look like a crime scene photo, which is either a turn on or a mood killer depending on your kinks. I couldn’t stop thinking about how Slappy’s name sounds like a failed mascot for discount lube.

One thing that bugged me, the sound. There’s this loop of jungle drums that cuts off mid beat every ten seconds. It’s like someone’s knocking on a door but never coming in. And Betty’s moans are recycled from a 2005 flash game, I swear I’ve heard them before. The whole thing feels like a lost Newgrounds submission someone found in a zip file. Not that I’m complaining. Well, maybe a little.