You ever get that feeling where a game just doesn't give a shit about looking pretty? That's this one. The art is rough, like someone sketched it on a napkin while waiting for a bus. 1958. Christmas. Then modern day. Same horny energy across decades, I guess.
The first thing that hits you is the font. It's terrible. Comic Sans level but worse, some stretched out thing that makes reading the dialogue feel like decoding a ransom note. I spent way too long just staring at the letter 'g' in one panel, the tail was all wrong. But the sex scenes don't wait for you to get comfortable. A woman in a retro dress gets her top ripped open by some guy with a mustache that looks drawn with a sharpie. The mini games are these weird click fests where you basically just poke at the screen until a bar fills up. One of them had me rubbing a frozen window? I think? It's never explained.
The choices are binary and blunt. Do you grab her tit or do you say something nice? Pick wrong and the story loops back like a scratched record. There's a modern segment with a couple doing stuff on a couch, the dialogue is pure filth, no setup, just "I want your cock in my mouth" out of nowhere. The contrast between the 50s setting and the 2020s one is jarring, not in a clever way, more like they forgot to change the writing style between eras. Everyone talks like they're in a badly dubbed porno from 2003.
The replayability is there if you're a completionist sicko. Miss one bad ending and you'll click through the whole thing again. The Christmas theme is just window dressing, a tree in the background, some tinsel, a gift box that turns into a sex toy. Nothing deep. It's a visual novel that feels like a prototype for something that never got finished. And yet. I kept clicking. The jank has a pull to it, like finding a sticky VHS tape under someone's bed. You don't expect art. You expect a mess. And a mess is what you get, complete with pixelated cumshots and a soundtrack that loops every 45 seconds. I muted it after two minutes. The silence was better.