Every child has been told the bedtime story of how Radio 1 DJ Mike Read was so disgusted by the song's content ("Relax don't do it/When you want to suck do it/Relax don't do it/When you want to come/Come-oh oh oh") that he refused to play it, leading to a blanket ban across the BBC.
This was somewhat ironic given we still have nightmares about a 1980s tabloid kiss-and-tell story, in which it was alleged that Read enjoyed making love to the sounds of alternative rock band The Icicle Works. Certainly, that's a mental image we find significantly more disturbing than any abstract call to discharge one's parts.
Anyhow, as a result of Read's moral outrage, Frankie's paean to ejaculation quite literally shot its way to the top of the charts.
It would be a crushing shame if society had learned nothing in the intervening 30 years.
Reviewing a game like Hatred - all we really feel like telling you about the game itself is that it isn't really very good, just a bit of an empty, flawed, shell of a twin-stick shooter, despite some mostly decent visuals - and getting into a lather is only going to fuel the anti-social notoriety that its makers intended for it. The game isn't accomplished enough to deserve that, least of all anybody's outrage.
Yes, you kill innocent people without any sort of moral context, but it's all bit sad and tragic. With its lead character calling himself The Crusader, it comes across as a studded leather wrist-strap of a game, a post-pubescent stab at self-harm shock that reeks of a failed attempt to provoke a reaction from an apathetic mummy and daddy.
It has already stoked too much of a furore, already generated a few too many headlines, when really it should've just been released and forgotten. Nothing here earns the attention the game has somehow managed to date.
All the valid discussions about freedom of artistic expression, that flowed in the wake of Hatred being pulled from Steam Greenlight, should never have been wasted on so insignificant and mediocre a game.
Of course, the irony is not lost on us that - by choosing to "review" Hatred - we're further adding to its legend.
Doubtless, right now, there's an army of trenchcoat-clad 17 year-old Hatred supporters punching the air and giving their Sepultura posters a Devil-horns salute, misreading the apathy that the released game has been met with as the terrified, defensive shrieks of a frightened society.
"Hey look - now they're pretending not to be outraged by it," they'll probably cackle to themselves in their undulating, semi-broken bleats.
Ultimately, though, they, you, us, were all pawns in a brilliantly accomplished marketing campaign. That's all Hatred is at the end of the day: an orchestrated media frenzy in search of a better game. It's The Wizard of Oz in black eyeliner, but look behind the leather curtain, and there's very little there.
SUMMARY: A mediocre game that only really succeeds at somehow fuelling undeserved outrage. Time to move on, everyone.
SCORE: 3.534231234 out of 9.431343141110000