
Mike Kennedy wanted to save video games. Not from microtransactions or mobile shovelware, but from the present itself. He didn’t want software patches. He didn’t want online updates. He didn’t want DRM. Fuck that noize.
Nah, he wanted cartridges. Plastic. Solid. Tactile. He wanted to drag the spirit of 1992 out of the grave, jam it into an Atari Jaguar shell, and make it dance. Back to the good ole days. Hot Pockets oozing death-lava. Kid Cuisine's Hamburger Pizza flavor still alive and smoking straight from the microwave, baby! Sunny D was orange gold. Beating off to Tiffani Amber Thiessen and Shannon Elizabeth. Ahhh, memories.
But before I unzip and get lost in that tastiness, let’s rewind and talk about Mike Kennedy and his lame-ass attempt at being a cool pirate.
In late 2014, Kennedy, known in retro circles for RETRO Magazine and GameGavel, pitched a dream console. It would run physical cartridges. No downloads. No updates. No nonsense. A digital hermit box. A time capsule you could play.
He bought up leftover molds for the Atari Jaguar. That dead console from the ’90s? Yeah. He was going to resurrect it. Not metaphorically. Dude, he literally used its casing. The guts, he claimed, would be custom hardware. Maybe even an FPGA core. Something that could run SNES and Genesis games. Old-school indie devs would supposedly line up to code for it. Capcom was name-dropped. Sega too.
Bullshit, of course. But people wanted to believe.
The crowdfunding started to cook. Kennedy hyped it up through his RETRO followers, forums, Facebook. No working prototype. Just vibes.
Kickstarter didn’t want them unless they could show working hardware. So they pivoted to Indiegogo, where snake oil has fewer fences. That campaign flopped hard. Barely over $80K raised on a $1.95 million target. No backers got charged. Just embarrassment.
But Kennedy wasn’t done. The moldy dream had a few more mutations to go.
December 2015. Enter: Coleco Holdings. They licensed their name to the project. Now it was the Coleco Chameleon. Retro heads perked up. Toy Fair 2016 was on the calendar.
And that’s when things turned from weird to shameless.
At Toy Fair, Kennedy unveiled the Chameleon inside a clear plastic cube. A prototype. A freakin’ miracle! Finally!
Except it wasn’t. It’s was bullshit.
Musky neckbeards online can’t be tricked that easily. They zoomed into the photos and noticed the internals looked a little too familiar. The ports. The components. The electrical tape.
It was a goddamn SNES Mini, stuffed into a Jaguar shell like some plastic Frankenstein. It ran a multicart through a flash cart. Not custom hardware. Not even close.
Interwebs lit up. Forums exploded. Tech sleuths dissected every angle. The Chameleon was a hoax. But it got worse.
Kennedy posted another prototype photo a few weeks later. This time with the guts visible through a clear shell. Bold move. Too bold. Meh, bullshit too.
This one wasn’t an SNES. No, this time the brain of the console was a cheap DVR capture card. The HICAP50B. Not even a gaming component. Just a glorified HDMI passthrough.
Two fakes. Back to back.
Now Kennedy came clean. Sort of. He wrote a novella-length apology on AtariAge, throwing his hardware guy under the bus. A mysterious character named Sean "Lee" Robinson, who apparently swindled him out of over $10,000, lied about prototypes, and convinced him to show off fake units.
Kennedy said he never opened the boxes. Said he didn’t know what was inside. Said he was duped. Said his only crime was believing too hard in a dream.
He dropped links showing Robinson's record. Felony grand theft. Jail time. Grifting history. He practically begged for forgiveness. He even asked people not to cancel RETRO Magazine because of this whole mess.
But by now, nobody cared. The retro scene had already made its memes. Burned its bridges. Buried the Chameleon.
In the end, no console was made. No games shipped. No dreams realized. Just fake hardware. Bruised reputations. A whole lot of cautionary tales.
Kennedy offloaded the Jaguar molds to AtariAge, hoping they'd be used for something real. He vanished from hardware dreams. RETRO Magazine limped along for a while, then died quietly.
And the Chameleon? It became a punchline meme before memes got cool. The mascot for vaporware. The kind of scam where the road to hell isn’t just paved with good intentions. It’s duct-taped to an SNES motherboard and passed off as innovation.
Mike Kennedy was almost a badass. He could’ve been a folk hero. If he’d dropped the act, if he’d just said fuck it and pirated the stuff outright. Dump the ROMs. Hack the FPGA. Throw it online with a wink and a middle finger. Burn a few carts, sell 'em out of a duffel bag, vanish before the lawsuits sniffed his trail. That’s pirate shit. That’s subversion. That’s punching up.
But he didn’t. He wanted to be a visionary, but he played it like a startup guy with a nostalgia kink. No code. No console. Just branding and wishful thinking stapled to an empty shell.
He wasn’t a pirate. Pirates deliver. They crack locked files, duplicate the sacred, and pass it on. Not for glory. Not always for cash. But because the idea deserves to breathe. Because someone said you can’t have this, and a pirate said watch me.
Kennedy? He wanted you to buy back your memories. From him. He was a capitalist dressed in a thrift store hoodie, praying that retro gamers wouldn’t check the receipts. A wannabe messiah hawking vapor and plastic. No payload. No rebellion. Just a mausoleum to his own childhood, carefully monetized and full of ghosts.
The retro community wanted to believe. But belief needs more than molded shells and Facebook posts. It needs circuitry. Sweat. Code. Truth.
Next time someone promises to save gaming with nothing but a clear case and a press release, open the lid, brah.