Why I Still Boot Up GTA V in 2024 (and Yes, It’s Still Weird)
Why I Still Boot Up GTA V in 2024 (and Yes, It’s Still Weird) I found a dead raccoon in the trunk of a stolen Ferrari yesterday. Not part of a mission. Not scripted. Just… there.
Why I Still Boot Up GTA V in 2024 (and Yes, It’s Still Weird)
I found a dead raccoon in the trunk of a stolen Ferrari yesterday. Not part of a mission. Not scripted. Just… there. I’d hijacked the car from a guy who was arguing with his girlfriend outside Vinewood Boulevard, hopped in, peeled off, and thunk — something soft and damp shifted behind me when I braked too hard near the pier. I opened the trunk. There it was. Eyes glazed. One paw curled like it was still reaching for something. I drove around for ten minutes trying to decide whether to dump it in the ocean or just leave it and pretend I hadn’t seen it. Eventually I parked at Pillbox Hill, got out, and watched a seagull land on the hood and stare at me like you’re the weird one.
That’s GTA V. Not the billion-dollar heists or the modded jetpacks or even the way Franklin finally learns to parallel park without clipping the curb. It’s the stupid, unscripted, deeply unimportant things that somehow stick harder than any cutscene.
Los Santos Isn’t a City — It’s a Mood Ring
Rockstar didn’t build a map. They built a mood ring calibrated to your worst impulses and your weirdest curiosities. The PS3 version felt like looking through slightly warped glass — warm, grainy, full of texture you could almost smell: exhaust, wet asphalt, cheap cologne, stale coffee from the gas station counter. The PS5 version? Crisper. Cleaner. Too clean, sometimes. You can see individual cigarette butts in the gutter now. That’s not always an upgrade. Some of the charm lived in the blur — the way the sun bled into the hills at dusk, how the radio stations bled into each other when you switched lanes too fast.
The geography still holds up. Not because it’s accurate, but because it’s believable. You know where you are by the light, not the street signs. The Valley feels like suburban sprawl you’ve driven through at 2 a.m. after a bad date. Paleto Bay smells like salt and diesel and quiet desperation. And Mount Chiliad? Yeah, it’s full of UFOs and cult tracts and half-buried tanks — but mostly, it’s just there, massive and indifferent, daring you to climb it while your phone buzzes with another text from Lester about “a low-risk opportunity.”
The Three-Person Juggle Was Never Supposed to Work (But It Did)
Switching between Michael, Franklin, and Trevor isn’t just a gimmick. It’s the game’s nervous system. You don’t play them — you cycle through them, like flipping through channels when nothing’s on. Michael’s midlife crisis hits different when you’re switching to him mid-heist, his voice cracking over the comms while Franklin’s doing donuts in a stolen Bravado. Trevor’s rage isn’t cartoonish — it’s exhausting, contagious, and weirdly relatable if you’ve ever snapped at a barista for getting your order wrong twice.
And yes, the story’s messy. The tonal whiplash is real. One minute you’re burying evidence in a shallow grave; the next, you’re helping Franklin’s aunt move furniture while listening to her complain about her neighbor’s dog. Rockstar didn’t smooth that out — they leaned in. That’s why it sticks. It doesn’t feel like a video game narrative. It feels like overhearing three people’s voicemails on the same day.
GTA Online Is Less a Game, More a Shared Delusion
Let’s be blunt: GTA Online shouldn’t exist. It should’ve been sunsetted in 2017. Instead, it’s become this bizarre, ever-morphing organism — part casino, part warzone, part corporate satire so sharp it makes you laugh then immediately check your bank account.
The updates aren’t just new cars or weapons. They’re events: the Cayo Perico Heist where you spend six hours learning how to disable a motion sensor, only to get betrayed by your own crew. The casino update where you can literally buy a penthouse, hire a bodyguard, and lose $2 million playing blackjack — all while your actual rent payment is due in two days. The latest stuff — the Arena War stuff, the bunker upgrades, the way they keep adding more ways to spend money you don’t have — it’s absurd. Yet I know three people who’ve spent more time planning their next CEO office layout than they have on actual work.
It’s not fun all the time. Matchmaking can be brutal. The economy resets every few months. Someone will spawn-kill you while you’re trying to fix your engine in the desert. But the sheer, stubborn scale of it — the fact that Rockstar keeps feeding this thing like it’s some kind of digital pet that won’t die — is weirdly admirable.
Collectibles? Sure. But the Real Loot Is the Time You Waste
IGN’s guide lists 50 spaceship parts. I found 12. Then gave up. Same with the letter scraps — Leonora Johnson’s mystery is compelling until you realize her murderer is probably just some guy who forgot to pay his parking tickets. The Epsilon tracts? I read three. Got bored. Started following a random cyclist instead.
Here’s the truth: nobody finishes GTA V. Not really. You finish the missions. You max out your stats. You buy every car in the garage. Then you spend three hours trying to land a Dodo on top of the Maze Bank Tower. Or you drive the same stretch of highway at exactly 10 a.m. every Sunday just to watch the light hit the palm trees a certain way. Or you call Lamar and listen to him rant about “the system” while you slowly drift a Sultan RS through traffic.
That’s the real collectible: the weird little ritual you make up for yourself. The game doesn’t reward it. Doesn’t track it. Doesn’t care. Which is why it matters.
Who’s This For? Honestly? People Who Like Watching Stuff Happen.
Not people who need clear goals. Not people who want tight, polished gameplay loops. Not people who get stressed when their character gets a flat tire during a chase scene.
This is for the folks who’ll pause the game to watch a street performer juggle flaming torches for seven minutes straight. For the ones who’ve memorized which alleyways flood during rain, or which radio station plays the saddest song at 3:47 a.m. For the people who still remember the first time they saw a plane crash into the Vinewood sign — not as a mission objective, but as pure, dumb, beautiful chaos.
GTA V isn’t a masterpiece because it’s perfect. It’s a masterpiece because it’s gloriously, maddeningly, alive — even when nothing’s happening. Especially then.
So yeah. I booted it up again last night. Didn’t do a mission. Didn’t go online. Just drove. Windows down. Radio on. Watched the sun set behind the hills. And somewhere, in the backseat, a raccoon was probably still decomposing.
Some things never change. And thank god for that.
References & Further Reading
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