So you're a Superbowl

Apparently the Super Bowl's on Sunday, which I didn’t really know untill about three days ago. I don’t know who’s playing who, but I’m sure the commercials will be entertaining? Every year I always try to make an effort to watch the commercials, but I honestly just can’t stay focused. American advertising is about as convincing as a clown scientist anyway, which I already know, but I always like to give the benefit of the doubt and assume they put out better stuff each year. Which they don’t!

But commercials and crushing disappointment aside, I hope the teams make lots of touchdowns and please their respective homelands and stuff, and if no one was killed, that’d be pretty cool too. I figured that in the spirit of football (I didn’t even know those words were in my vocabulary!), I’d explain football to various interest groups who normally wouldn’t know what football is. It seems like it should be our American duty to expose football to those less fortunate, right? Should be fun! Also, if the content of this article doesn’t please or humor you, you can always 1) punch a porcupine, or 2) Let me know! ONWARD STALLIONS

Toddlers:

So you’re 4 years old! You know when your dad ignores you for hours at a time because he’s sitting in front of the flashy screen? When he does that, he’s watching football! You see, in order to play football, you have to be big and strong, but it’s different than the big and strong your parents tell you you’ll be when they try to get you to eat vegetables. No, to get this big and strong, you have to inhale LOTS of meat and LOTS of steroids! What are steroids you ask?

Steroids are special, magical things you can inject into your body to rapidly make you big and strong! Usually, you have to inject them using a shot, which-yeah, ok, I get it, you don’t like shots. Please stop crying. Seriously, I’m not your parents, I don’t know what the hell to do. Go fetch? Shit. Uhhh...candy! Ok, now we can continue. 

Finding this image may have put me on several lists.

So anyway, in football, the teams try to get a ball to their side of the field, and if they do  so without the other team stopping them, they get a touchdown! Whooooo touchdown YEAH What? You want me to stop yelling so you can play with your legos? Yeah ok, sorry for trying to teach you. By the way, leaving those legos out on the floor at night makes dad really happy!

Aliens:

So you’re from the Saturn’s sixth moon, Enceladus! Welcome to Earth, I hope you enjoy your stay and that you enjoy many of our entertainment offers, including FOOTBALL AWW YEAH! What’s football you ask?

Well first off, please observe my fleshy form, if you will. If you can believe it, I am not the biggest or well-defined individual of my species. Hard to swallow, I know, but it’s true. Human males who are much bigger and have much more muscles than I do all join various factions and, for months at a time, do their best to get a ball from one side of a field to another. They stop the other team from doing so by throwing their bodies into the each other, and sometimes injuries happen, but our species can’t get enough of it!

Why? Well I don’t know, we all like to align ourselves with the various teams and pretend that we’re part of something bigger than we are or something like that, don’t judge us. I doubt what you do on your planet for entertainment is much better...you write philosophical books and create new planets for those who have none? Aren’t you special. Let us tackle each other and throw a ball around, you go back to your saving each other crap ok? Klaatu barada nikto, bitch.

Penguins

So you’re a penguin! Yes you are! WHO’S A WITTLE PENGUIN WITH WITTLE FEETS AND WINGS? YOU ARE! YES YOU ARE! 

There's never a bad time to talk about penguins.

What’s that? You wanna know what us humans like to do the most? Well the answer to that, little buddy who's now my best friend, is a big thing called football. We take some of our biggest, scariest guys and pit them against each other in a game of brutality, honor, and possibly repressed-homosexuality (depending on who you ask). They take a ball roughly the size of your baby chick, and throw it at each other and try to get it to the other side of the field the most times! It’s a journey from one side of the field to the other, kind of like when you travel for 2 weeks to retrieve food for your baby! Except, well, our players are really well fed and don’t have to worry about them or their kids starving to death...but the long journey part is still the same! Kinda!

Europeans

AMERICA BITCH! Oh I’m sorry, what’s that? You DO have football? No you don’t. Haha. I’m sure you all are so happy and content with your little round-ball-ass, kicking-only football, but over in America (where we have real men), we like to plow into each other, like actual men did in the 40s.

I actually feel sorry for all of you on the other side of the lake, I really do. You’ll never really get what it’s like to eat a hotdog that’s the size of your forearm as you watch a man that may or may not be able to pass for a laboratory experiment throw a ball across the distance of two school buses. You can make all the scientific advances all you want, but that will always be a purely American feeling! NUMBER ONE COUNTRY YOU BUNCH OF BETAS WHOOOOOO MERCA

Sorry that you can't take the immense lack of size our government has.

Why we need to elect a penguin as president in 2016

Upon having a political conversation with my mom, I came to a realization: People don’t like politicians. I wasn’t aware of this! Is there anyone reading this who was? Why didn’t you tell me?! Until now I lived my life thinking that people were happy with whom they elected to office, and that concept’s been completely shredded now.

Why aren’t we trying to solve this? If this is something that’s been going on for a long time then I’m very sad, because guess how long it took me to think of a solution? About 10 minutes. Ten whole minutes is all it took for me to solve this issue, and I did it all by myself. What do we do?

It’s obvious! We just elect someone who’s more likeable. A simple concept, yes, but I think that it will work. The only question though, is “What do people like SO MUCH that they will elect them over a real politician?”. And the answer, is this cool dude right here. 

AH'M PROUD TO BE AN 'MURICAN

Since I know at least 20 of you reading this are currently face-palming in jealousy, let me just say that it was obvious, and that anyone who applied themselves to the subject for at least 2 minutes would also think of this! I was just the first to do so. I’m not sorry. However, since our culture dictates that we have to support our claims with evidence, no matter how genius those claims may be (in my case, super genius level claims). Therefore, I’ll give 3 good reasons why a penguin should be elected president of the United States in 2016.

1. Patriotism and morale would be off the charts

Has anyone ever been around a penguin and been sad? I think it’s impossible. They are the best animals in existence, hands down. Everything about a penguin is engineered to induce the maximum amount of happiness, awe, and “awww”. Let’s break that down a little further!

A penguin’s waddle is un-arguably the funniest way to get anywhere, so much so that we emulate penguins when we try to be funny (don’t deny it. I know who you all are), and we hold the waddle above all other forms of transportation. Or, I do at least. If you aren’t waddling at least once a day then you’re really missing out, seriously this stuff is fun. Furthermore, have you ever heard what sounds a penguin makes?! It purrs. It purrs! Yes, pretty much just like a cat, and it’s two times more cute. Personally, I don’t see why penguins are more accepted as domestic pets, I’m sure they’d get along with children better than any other pet out there. 

That seal represents every other country in the world.

Now, the point of all this cuteness, is that I’m sure the American people would be PROUD to serve a penguin. People love to know that the person they’re working for is a person who has widespread appeal, and nothing has more widespread appeal than a damn penguin. Even the most terrorist-y of terrorists can’t argue that a penguin would win them over. They can’t! If a penguin asked you to do something, you can be sure that you’d do it, and you’d do it well, because you’d rather lose to the communists than disappoint that penguin. That’s the kind of dedication and loyalty that this country needs to come together and prosper in this day and age.

2. Race and party relations would be at an all time high

Another great thing about having a penguin president would be the subtle symbolic importance that a penguin would bring with it. What colors are on a penguin? Black and white. The two opposite colors, yin and yang. To have a president that embodies the two opposites of the world would do a lot of good for our country right now, it would enable black and white people to look and say “Hmm. Our president is both black AND white...clearly we can all get along. What an adorably inspiring president, YES YOU ARE! YES YOU ARE!” and then all race relation problems would forever be solved. Nevermore would the question of “Why is it ok for me to like fried chicken?”, or “Why do I enjoy dancing like a flamingo having a seizure?” pass our minds, because we’d understand that, with the grace of our president penguin, all these things are accepted.

Republicans and Democrats would be able to look at this disparity in color schemes and realize that they’re not so different after all. President Penguin just wants what’s best for America, and he’s not gonna let his color contrasts get in his way, therefore neither should the political parties. They’re gonna look at him and say “Hmm. Our president is both black AND white...obviously we’re not so different after all! COME HERE YOU ADORABLE REPUBLICAN YOU”, and then all the bills would pass. All because we’d have a president who represents what happens when two opposites come together: you get cuteness incarnate. 

It's just so damn American. 

With these things in mind, it’s obvious that a penguin would help bring this country together in a way that no human could ever do. If a person could say “Well, I don’t like you, but we live under the same penguin president, so I’ll help you out!”, then I think that’s a giant step forward for this divided country we currently live in. Think about it America.

3. Productivity would be crazy, no more crappy economy guys

Now, the question I know you’re all asking yourselves at this point is “Well, I know that a penguin would tremendously help the US, and you’re probably right that it’d be our best choice right now, but I still have to ask...how would he fix the economy?” I’m gonna goddamn tell you how, just watch this video. I hope you’re ready for this. 

See that? Penguins love their kid so much that they travel, hunt, and travel back in the course of 2 weeks, all to feed their little baby penguin. The penguin who starred in this video in particular! He got bitten and almost eaten by a damn seal, but managed to wit his way out, belly-slide all the way back to the colony, find his little kid, and feed him/her the meal that he worked so hard to get.

That’s basically the embodiment of America right there. We are a nation full of people who work hard every single day, making sacrifices, so that they can come home and have food to feed their children. Even if they get in a car wreck, or almost get eaten by a seal, our people can’t give up; they must endure, for the sake of the future of the country. The lazy among us would look at our magnificent avian president, and realize how selfish they're being through their laziness, and thus would get a job pronto. Because of these parallels in work ethic, it’s no doubt that a penguin is the most American animal in existence, and thus should be elected as our president.

All in all-you know what? I don’t even need to summarize this. With all things considered, you know what you have to do America. It’s our best option. 

Accept your new leader.

ELECT PENGUIN 2016

If you would, please.

If you would please, just for a second, imagine yourself in a concert hall.

Imagine the shuffling of well-groomed shoes as the orchestra members make their way onto stage, filing into line as the chairs become filled. The hall starts to fill up with white noise as the brass players begin to blow warm air into their instruments, preparing themselves for the performance that is to come. Then the percussionists enter, putting themselves behind their respective instruments, their faces full of confidence and purpose. You notice the conductor off to the side of the stage, his eyes closed...praying? Relaxing? It’s hard to tell, but by the next time you blink he walks to the center of the stage and bows. His bow is a practiced one, one that betrays the youthful shine of his meticulously groomed hair. As he turns his back to the audience and raises his conductor’s baton to begin the experience, you start to wonder to yourself...

How did I get here?

Did you even drive to the concert? It’s all kind of cloudy in your head. Trying to find the way you got here is becoming more and more like trying to find a piece of foreign hair inside a jar of peanut butter, because that’s just how paranoid you are (Trust me, it’s there). Maybe someone drove you there, because you certainly don’t own a car, not since the accident.

It was as if an occult hand had picked you up and dropped you into this orchestra performance (which by the way, they’re in the middle of Beethoven's 9th and you are NOT disappointed). You consider getting up and walking out of the concert to figure out exactly where you are, but the stares of the other concert-goers quickly bomb that idea out of your head. The look in their eyes gives you feelings of alienation and anxiety...why is there so much hate? Upon looking around, you realize that these stares are shared by everyone else in the room, and immediately you become very self-conscious. Your hands start shaking enough to generate heat to warm a small family of anthropomorphic mice for the winter. Your sweat glands become more productive than a college student during the four hours before an exam. Is this an anxiety attack? No, you recognize these feelings...you’ve been in this situation before.

As your breathing catches up to your sympathetic nervous system, you manage to take control of your body. You slow your breathing down and manage to control the loud shaking of your hands, and as this process happens, you slowly start to put the pieces together:

1. You have no recollection of arriving at this concert.
2. The other concert goers share a large amount of contempt for your presence.
3. Despite everything, you highly enjoy the music being played.

And then all the memories come rushing back to you as you realize what happened...you look down to examine yourself, and find that you’re wearing a Stravinsky shirt. At a concert featuring the works of Beethoven.

Furthermore, you don’t remember getting into this situation because you had gotten mugged and given a dose of Rohypnol by a gang of music composition majors, up to no good. Their plan was to ambush you, drug you, dress you in Stravinsky attire, and drop you off in a Beethoven concert, in order to put you in the most uncomfortable situation possible.

Those bitch sacks.

To the citizens of my neighborhood:

I address my fellow citizens of Generic Neighborhood Estates in hopes of coming to a reconciliation. I’m of the understanding that we are all mature, responsible, well-off adults (of the favored ethnicity and religion of course), therefore I’m sure we can all come to an understanding regarding the incident that happened last week. As long as no authorities have been contacted, then I believe that there’s still hope in maintaining this Stockholm-syndrome esque relationship I share with all of you!

Now at this point, some of you may be wondering: what incident could this frighteningly good-looking man be talking about? “I experienced no such incident last week, all I heard was the melodious and beautiful sounds of a musician on their drum”, to which I say to you: you are a saint. I hope that your Christmas is filled with hookers, cocaine, and rave music (assuming you’re into that. If you’re not into those things, why not?). I hope that your children become the next George Clooneys/Betty Whites of the world, and that I have the privilege of being their loyal servant one day. I hope this all happens to you amazing people, who had no problems with me making beautiful music last week. You may stop reading now. I love all of you. Call me.

It’s at this point in my letter when I address the rest of you sacks of bitch.

Of course, I’m referring to those of you who did not appreciate what I had to offer our small community. It’s been proven in many, many studies that the sounds of music can only enhance the quality of living in any population of people, and this special relationship we all have definitely falls into that category, I think. You are all human, right? I only wonder because I can’t imagine what genuine human would hate the beautiful sounds of banging drums.

Was it the resonance that made you turn your head? The tone? The impact of the sticks on the beautiful drum head? Or was it the obvious passion, the pure emotion that resonated from my heart the day I beat that drum in the middle of our neighborhood park?

No matter what your reason was for sending me hateful letters after the fact, just know this: I very much dislike you. It is because of people like you that the fine arts are frowned upon in today’s society, the reasons why poor trumpet player Johnny will get his trumpet shoved up the ass of another poor trumpet player Johnny, and no one will raise a finger to stop it. I hope that you eventually develop arthritis, and spend the twilight years of your life in uncomfortable, yet non-lethal pain.

Just to spite you poor vegetable-people, I present this recording of my performance that day, hopefully for future reference of what can be accomplished when passion and a love of performing change the world.

Sincerely,

Dat mane

I have a dream.

Let us reflect on the state of domestic pet-ownership in the current day and age.

As it is, cats have all the traits of the perfect human companion: an attractive, mostly self-sufficient being who only really depends on you to give them food/water and clean their excrement basket. Apart from that last thing, who wouldn’t want that kind of control over someone? At our most base instincts, we have an innate desire to have control over something or someone other than ourselves, and even though you can’t control if a cat comes to you or not, you sure as hell can control whether they eat today or not. (Disclaimer: I do NOT endorse withholding food from your cat/pet to exert some sort of need for power on it. What are you, some sort of  power-wanter person? Dick.)

Now, take that ballooned sense of control and apply it to a platypus. You think a platypus gives a shit about your power? Platypus spits at your power (if they could spit I swear they would)! Platypus’ (platypi?) are 100% self-sufficient, and wouldn’t have survived in nature as long as they have if they weren’t so none of you biology majors try to prove me wrong (I looked it up on wikipedia, IT’S RIGHT GUYS). Now, there’s a reason us bi-pedals haven’t quite gotten the hang of domesticating a platypus, and that’s maybe probably only partly due to the sharp, poisonous barbs they secretly have. It’s like a puppy that could secretly shank you whenever it wants, just because it can. You think you can control that? Good luck getting ghetto-stabbed by a furry duck. 

Cold. Calculating. Deadly.

Obviously what you’ve all been thinking is, “I want a platypus...but I also want a cat...TREVOR MY LIFE MAKES NO SENSE PLEASE HELP!”, to which I say, fear not rhetorical pet-lover! I alone understand that platypus’ and cats must be combined into one creature.  I understand the need for a creature of this evolutionary-calibur, and that despite the fact that it’s combination of poisonus barbs and sharp claws would probably make it viable to over-take lions as “best predator forever”, this creature would make an amazing companion. Little children would marvel at it’s awkward duck bill and furry feline good-looks, and adults will be pleased with the fact that they won’t need to entertain their children for at least a week. In response to everyone fearing that this biological disaster marvel won’t happen, fear not! For I, your local blogger, will donate the total amount of money I make in the next 2 years to research trying to find an ethical, practical way to physically combine a platypus and a cat into a catypus. If at least 3 and a half people join me in this endeavor, I believe a difference can be made.

"In a perfect world, this great nation's mascot would definitely be a catypus."

-George Washington

The nation demands it science. Make it so. 

Erik Erikson's Stages of Video Games, Part 2

LAST TIME, ON: THIS BLOG!

In case of short term memory loss or cases of episodic amnesia, in my last blog I journeyed through the swamps of my childhood to talk about the super serious topic of video games, and how they affected my childhood...or something like that. Using Erik Erikson’s Stages of Development, I broke my childhood into chunks and defined an inner conflict within each phase, using the stages of development as an outline. If psychology, video games, and sprinkles of humor are things that activate your console, then read on friend! If not, then I advise you to politely participate in intercourse with yourself.

Stage Four: Industry v.s. Inferiority (Gamecube, 10-14 years)

When the Gamecube came out in 2001, I was more than ready as a gamer pupae to sink my tiny pupae teeth into what games came with it, the grandest of them all being Super Mario Sunshine. Awwwwww shit, son. This game had graphics for days, with my very own water shooting backpack partner, just like in my greatest sexual fantasy. Add in a bunch of aerial flips and twists, some Bowser Jr. ass-kicking action, subtract a realistic storyline, and it was perfect. What more could a kid ask for?

Nothing unusual to see here.

...wait, a new Super Smash Bros game? You’re...you’re yanking my shit, right?! New controls? New maps? New game modes? NEW CHARACTERS?! Surely this, was the end of the world right here. The fact that I got to play as Bowser himself, at his most badass, just sent my little pupae mind into a roaring, flaming spin-crash that only the best of NASCAR drivers could even hope to replicate. It was unfair to my poor brain, like pitting a diamond-skinned grizzly bear-breathing dragon against a 10 year old child whose skin was made of pillows...and it was great.

But that wasn’t enough! No, not by a long shot! With these two behemoth-calibur games came a vast multitude of other games that interested my just as much, if not more. Soul Calibur 2, Super Mario Tennis, Pokemon Colosseum/XD, Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker, Sonic Adventure 2: Battle, and more. And I had to be good at all of them. Unreasonable? Maybe. But to a 10-14 year old kid, priorities are like the news: you vaguely know about it, but you don’t really care enough yet to pay attention.

So it wasn’t enough to simply play these games. I had to be the best at them, out of all my friends I alone had to be the one. I worked hard at it. Many night filled with Super Smash Meleeing, or Mario Tennis-ing with my brother, many 80s training montages happened in that part of my life, and they all paid off. I ALONE won at Mario Tennis. I alone beat Wind Waker. I alone was “really cheap, dude” with Fox in Melee. My dominance was established, and I was a winner. 

Image not related.

So did I succeed in this stage of development? Damn right I did. No one else could...it had to be me.

Stage Four: Identity v.s. Role Confusion (Gamecube/Wii, 14-19 years)

At this point in my life, I had three great video game loves: gamecube games, nintendo DS games, and of course, the wii. When the wii came out in 2007, honestly I wasn’t really that excited about it. Sure, I finally got guitar hero for my own, instead of sneaking into my friend’s house at night to play “Killer Queen” while they were asleep. Yeah, eventually we got the new Legend of Zelda game, which was pretty cool for a while. The main thing that I was excited for was (surprise) the new super smash bros game. Even that though, all it really offered me in terms of new stuff was new characters. So what motivation did I have to be the best at a console that didn’t have games I really liked that much?

Well in short, there wasn’t. I had become confused as to what type of gamer I was-did I like beat-em up games (super smash bros)? Did I like strategy/turn taking games (pokemon)? Was I a master of adventure games (legend of zelda/metroid)? I had no idea, because all I knew is that I’d have, at the very least, 10-15 years before “Wii Sports” became an acceptable thing for me to enjoy. No, I had to be edgy with my gaming, and I didn’t know how. I needed something to be competitive with, and all I had was super smash bros. 

Please...violence...need...no more family games...

It’s no falsehood that after the first 2 or so years after the Wii’s release, games for it started...sucking. I mean, for a family-oriented console, it was great, of course. But for a person who wanted to be a serious gamer at the time, like myself, I noticed it was distinctly lacking in explode-y things. Sure, mario kart wii came out, and so did Skyward Sword; but it was too to apologize, Nintendo. So I had to ask myself a very important question: am I still the nintendo fanatic I was? And more importantly, did I want to keep throwing all my support to a console whose games lacked communal interest? I needed to think. In case it needed to be said, I failed this stage-my gaming identity was lost.

Stage Five: Intimacy v.s. Isolation (Xbox 360/Wii, 19-present)

One pre-determined day, my best friend decided he wanted to sell his Xbox 360 for $50, along with Black Ops and Portal 2. Now, I didn’t know much about either of these games, other than that everyone thought they were great, exciting games. At the time, I still regarded xbox games with the same scrutiny that a Pepsi-lover would look at Coca-cola: I didn’t like them very much. I thought that multi-player first person shooter games were what’s wrong with gaming today. that immersive, in-depth single player storylines were the best way to game. Now egocentrism aside (my opinion is what matters, blah blah blah), I still wanted to play these games, because they were different than what I had been playing. So, I bought the xbox from my friend, and went to play black ops that night.

If you can search youtube for the worst black ops gameplay video you can find, where the guy playing just has no idea what he’s doing and makes ALL the mistakes, then my first time playing the game was much like that, except subtract any and all good things I did while playing. Pretty much the best thing I had down was moving my character, even though he would stop moving after about 5 seconds due to an excess of bullets in his body. I soon discovered, through many, many other deaths, that this was the challenge I needed: the first-person shooter challenge. I had found my gaming destination, and in accordance I went and bought halo 3, borderlands 2, Skyrim, Oblivion, Bioshock, Bioshock 2, and others. Bioshock in particular blew me away, because it presented me with the challenge of a first person shooter, but with the immersive storyline that I thought these games couldn’t have. I was immensely satisfied with these games, but more importantly, these were games I could talk to people my age about.

"You shoot people in the head? I too, shoot people in the head."

I was able to share my experiences with these games with most people I knew, because they had played them before me. “What you’re just now playing bioshock? Well, better late than never. Isn’t it awesome?!” were many of the responses I got, and I was actually able to go on forums and gaming websites and read what people thought about these games. Even though I didn’t think about it at the time, this was a very good thing for me, more things to talk about increased the amount of people I could relate to, which sounds obvious, because it is. This is always a good thing, no matter what it is that increased your social range, so in summation, I had passed the fifth stage of development! Wheee.

So what’s the point of this? Well, video games are often thought of as a waste of time; a lifetime of playing video games will prepare you for a life of playing video games. This is true, absolutely. Video games are entertainment, pure and simple. However, the point made with this is that video games can serve a much bigger purpose: they bring people together. If anyone plays video games for the sole purpose of entertaining themselves during the long, dull hours of their life, then they’re not gaming right; they’re meant to be shared with people. Whether talking about games, or preferably playing games with other people, video games can and should be a social activity. Because for some reason, watching Batman single-handedly Bat-fuck 15 enemies just isn’t as great without your best friend screaming at the screen right next to you. No matter how perfectly you beat the final boss of a game, that’s the kind of thing you remember.

Image unrelated. Seriously, does this guy look like he's playing video games? No.

Erik Erikson's Stages of Video Games, Part One

Video games and I have a complex affair, one that can be traced back to my childhood with the very first pokemon game I ever owned: Pokemon Yellow. Yes, I had no idea what I was doing...but damn was it fun. Learning how the Game Boy worked, what all pokemon there were, how all the types worked, I was essentially a baby again in the world of Pokemon. Much in the way that a baby learns how to look at everyone and actually understand stuff, I was learning the basics of video game thinking through Pokemon Yellow.

Some psychologist named Erik Erikson once created a theory for the development of people folk. He called it, imaginatively enough, “Erik Erikson’s Stages of Development”, because clearly creativity is every psychologist’s strong suit, and because “Here’s why your life is disappointing” was much too depressing. Erikson’s stages of development, tl;dr, was a chart of the major periods in a person’s life, with a central conflict defining each period. For example as a little tiny person folk, the major conflict was “Trust vs. Mistrust”, aka deciding whether it was ok to trust the giant person out of whom you were just forcefully ejected. He decided that becoming a well-adjusted, confident person was dependant on being successful in these conflicts, so if you’re wondering who to blame for your job title as “Not mila kunis’s personal sex slave”, then blame your baby self and your baby environment for screwing everything up right from the start.

Using this model, I decided to judge judge how successful I’ve been at playing video games (wasting time) by identifying a central conflict for each stage of my video gaming self up until now. Will I end up confirming my success? No idea. Am I thinking about playing Borderlands 2 right now? You bet your ass.

Stage One: Trust v.s. Mistrust (Pokemon, ages 6-8)

When I was 6, my dad took me to Wal-mart to buy a game for the gameboy color my cousin had just given to me. As I looked through the hoards of obviously worthless games, one in particular caught my eye: Pokemon Yellow. My dad bought it, love at first playthrough, blah blah etc.

One thing I think about as I reflect on those years is how little of an idea I had about what I was doing. Pokemon? I had no idea what they really were, just that I was supposed to make the little bar go down on the other pokemon and I won, that’s all I needed to know. I thought moves like tail whip did damage, only to find out they didn’t and therefore had no purpose in my mind. However as all the games teach us, as all the anime episodes dictated, as literally all the movies hit us over the head with over and over and over again, you have to trust your pokemon man or you’re an objectively horrible person! Did I trust my pokemon? I trusted them about as much as a 6-7 year old could trust pixels, which is about as much as Ash trusts Team Rocket to successfully capture pikachu: None. I just knew they kept dying over and over again because fucking Sabrina and her bitch ass. Who are you to kill my objectively bitchin’ Nidoking over and over again? Huh?! Type advantage what?! Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of throwing my gameboy across the room. 

"ROOOOAAAAHHHHGGGJDAIGOIAE."- Every Nidoking ever

 

So we’re off to a great start.

Stage Two: Shame and Doubt (Pokemon with friends, ages 8-11)

When I was 8 we moved to my current residence of Frisco, Texas and I started going to a nice elementary school, which meant that I had to at least make an effort to make new friends. This was made ironically easier because of my love of pokemon, because even though pokemon was considered very uncool around that time, the few (3) of us who did stuck together like a group of war veterans who have seen some shit.

However, this didn’t mean that we always got along. Many, many an argument was had over which pokemon was objectively the coolest looking, or who could absolutely kill all the other pokemon if given the chance, or which pokemon would be the coolest to have as a pet dude! For me that answer was always Umbreon or Houndour, both of which according to my friends, “suck dude you’re stupid they’re so gay”, because back then insults didn’t need a compelling argument or creativity to be effective. This caused me to doubt my liking for these pokemon, because even though Brian picked his nose and creeped the other kids out, he had a shiny pokemon. Case closed, failure of stage two confirmed. Let’s move on before the tub of ice cream starts looking more attractive than it does.

You use a rattata?! Get lost, nerd.

Stage Three: Initiative v.s. Guilt (N64, 8-10 years)

In the middle of that entire “People don’t like the same pokemon I do” phase, I was also experiencing a different kind of beast: The Nintendo 64. Gotten for me upon moving to Texas to help me adjust somehow, I soon became enamored with the wonderful game known as Super Smash Brothers. Ahhhhhhhhhhh that name gives good feelings.

It was at that moment that I became unconsciously training myself to be a Super Smash Bros assassin of the highest quality. I would fight whoever I could find, whoever was willing to test their skills with a controller against me, and in the end I always came out on top. After about a year of playing this cocaine-influenced game, I played my best friend for the last time.

A match of legendary proportions was under way, and it was too late to stop. The location was decided, the characters picked, the map chosen, and the terms set: the winner won the title of undisputed Super Smash Bros champion of the neighborhood. My opponent chose pikachu; a considerable enemy indeed, but a definite bitch when compared to the utter might of Mario, my italian buddy throughout my entire Super Smash Bros career, as proven by the 20 minute absolute apocalypse that ensued. Pikachu proved to be no match for the pride of Italy! Mario, the epitome of all that is manly and testosterone-filled, slapped Pikachu’s japanese ass across the Mushroom Kingdom for 20 minutes, and it was awesome. 

Say my name.

Despite my display of dominance among the adolescent gaming community in a small neighborhood in Frisco, I felt bad because I was incapable of taking pride in much, and so I felt bad for beating my best friend so badly. Even though I was the king of Super Smash Bros, I had to smash my friend out of existence to do so, which for some reason felt really bad to me as a kid despite having absolutely no future implications whatsoever. Unless there’s a job titled “Professional Super Smash Bros Dictator Emperor” that is.

So yeah, I failed this one too. The next part of this post will come eventually, in which I continue to explore my video game past and make rash commentary and assumptions! In the meantime, Borderlands 2 guys.