The poker hands are wrong. Not the rules, I know the rules, but the way the car drifts over the chips, sometimes it picks up a 7 when I clearly drove over a 10. That’s the real game here, not the striptease. The striptease is just a reward for a minimax strategy that keeps failing because the physics are drunk. I spent twenty minutes optimizing my line through the first corner to grab an Ace and a King, only for the game to register a 3 and a 9. A 3 and a 9. My soul left my body.

The racing fan girls. Right. They’re real models, I guess, doing that thing where they look at the camera like they just heard a noise in the kitchen. You pay your winnings to make their clothes disappear. It’s a strip poker arcade racer, which sounds like a mad lib a horny AI would make. The video loops are what you’d expect, grainy and unpolished, like a forgotten Skype call from 2009. There’s one girl with a ponytail who keeps glancing to the side, probably at the director eating a sandwich. I wish the game let me bet on which piece of clothing would clip through her body next. That would be a better use of my misregistered poker hand.

The car handles like a shopping cart with a rocket strapped to it. You’re supposed to make the best poker combination, but the track is just a flat texture with cards scattered around like a toddler’s tantrum. I got a straight flush once, completely by accident, and the game stuttered so hard I thought my browser was going to ascend. The reward money screen popped up and I just stared at it. The girl’s bra disappeared and I felt nothing. Just the hollow victory of a broken RNG. The whole thing feels like a tech demo for a joke that got out of hand. I keep playing it though. The sound of the engine is just a single, looping whine that drills into your skull. It’s perfect.