izigame.me

I never expected to find PowerWash Simulator—a game about spraying virtual dirt off of fences, playgrounds, and ancient statues—to become my absolute favorite game of all time. But here we are.
What begins as a humble power washing gig in the fictional town of Muckingham slowly evolves into something almost spiritual. The gameplay loop is incredibly simple: point, spray, clean. But there’s a meditative rhythm to it, a kind of digital zen garden that sucks you in and doesn’t let go. Whether you're removing decades of gunk from a rusty fire truck or unveiling the clean lines of a dinosaur-themed playground, each job feels like a quiet triumph.
There’s no rush, no time limits unless you want them. No enemies, no fail state—just you, your washer, and the satisfying hiss of high-pressure water cutting through grime. It’s the ultimate escape. I’ve played late into the night more times than I care to admit, chasing that final 1% of invisible dirt on the underside of a ladder or the wheels of a monster truck.
It’s therapeutic. It’s oddly beautiful. It’s… perfect.
But I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t mention what happened to my great uncle Bruce. A man of intensity and curious taste, Uncle Bruce took an interest in the game one afternoon after I told him it was “like pressure washing your soul.” He played for three straight hours, hunched in front of the monitor, completely locked in. Somewhere between cleaning the skate park and finishing the gnome-infested temple, he had a seizure.
Now, Bruce is fine. He’s fully recovered and insists that it wasn’t the game—it was “the intensity of the cleansing,” as he dramatically puts it. But it’s now part of our family lore: “The PowerWash Incident.” Every time I boot up the game, I think of Bruce, bless him, and his overly ambitious attempt to 100% the Ancient Statue map in one sitting.
So yes, my favorite game of all time nearly hospitalized a family member. But that’s just part of its legend now.
PowerWash Simulator is a masterpiece of calm, of slow-burn satisfaction, and of strangely compelling gameplay that proves you don’t need explosions or combat to feel accomplished. It’s not just a game—it’s therapy with a hose.
Uncle Bruce, this one’s for you.