It's like if you deconstructed Doom and it took place in a motor home instead of Mars and you were geeked out on PCP, speed, and LSD.

Fleshy apendenges clinging to walls and faceless men rain fire while electric saws whir in your ear and your weapons cleave through flesh, metal, and pulsing orifices to provide liquid to a shrunken head that's rapidly leaking at the neck. Strange things scabber half-seen around your ankles. You must get the forest. You MUST get to the forest. For the liquid in the head is your life force and you are connected to it, and when it runs out so does this trip.

But what a trip it is.