Saints Row: The Third is the most puerile, immature, juvenile and downright ludicrous game of 2011. The love child of Borat and Benny Hill would be more politically correct than this insane piss-take of being a gangster. It also happens to be an absolute hoot. If you're easily offended, you'll probably enjoy watching Antichrist more than roaming the giant sandbox city of Steelport, the game's setting. In just the first hour of play we had already gunned down dozens of scantily clad strippers and beat up a gang of gimp-alike S&M freaks with a giant dildo. But it's all done with tongue firmly planted in cheek - the ultra-violence within is impossible to take seriously. It's a good thing, otherwise our nanny-state classification board would never have let the game see the light of day.
That would have been a real shame, because buried beneath the dick jokes and fart-based weaponry lays an absolute behemoth of a game. Your playground is a giant virtual city while your toys are unlimited cars, helicopters, machine guns, rocket launchers and much, much more. Central to the experience is a series of missions that tell the story of The Saints - a gang that has its own line in energy drinks - and these alone will take a good 10 hours.
But this is just a tiny fraction of the game; every street corner and alleyway plays host to hundreds of side missions. Whether it's blowing up $400k worth of cars in a tank in fewer than two minutes, committing insurance fraud to bolster your bank account or tracking down the target of a contract, this game has literally hundreds of hours of entertainment, which is doubly entertaining when played online with a friend in the co-operative mode. We can forgive the game's many rough edges considering the staggering amount of stuff crammed into one disk, but note that this is not a game for everybody - just get grandma some lavender soap again, eh?