Welcome to the 100-Game Challenge, the game jam where ambition, taste, and basic software engineering have all been politely escorted from the building.
Participants have 100 minutes to make 100 games, preferably with as much AI assistance, questionable prompting, and “ship it before anyone notices” energy as possible.
The goal is not polish. The goal is not balance. The goal is not even, strictly speaking, “games.”
The goal is to build a towering monument to AI slop—made by AI slop, for AI slop, in the proud tradition of asking a chatbot to make Pong and receiving a tax simulator with jump physics.
But this is not merely about surrendering how we build. It is about radically relinquishing control over what we build at all: letting the machine hallucinate the premise, invent the mechanics, misunderstand the brief, and then confidently name the result something like Goblin Mortgage Arena 4.
We are not using AI to realize our creative vision.
We are experiencing AI psychosis from the other side: not because the machine has become too human, but because we have agreed to become its unpaid interns—obediently discovering what happens when it stops asking “How can I help?” and starts asking, “What if this was a rhythm game about divorce?”