Originally published 9/18/08
It would be hypocritical of me to lampoon the aging adolescents who make up the gaming subculture, not that I will be deterred.
But first, some confessions are in order.
I’ve been in a fantasy baseball league for more than a decade. I still want to believe in Bigfoot.
And then there’s my roster of fictional characters who regularly participate in conversations with certain friends. They include a scheming Hummer salesman, a crazy old Wal-Mart greeter hounded by a cryptic troll who lives in her basement, a disgraced former local Emmy award-winning weatherman who savors most every vice, a bigoted Buffalo transplant who hates “stupid Southerners,” an aging radio personality who wishes the 1970s had never ended, a smarmy recent graduate of Trump University, a gay redneck who loves NASCAR and dick and, finally, a Harvey Fierstein-influenced queer activist (founder of the E.Q.U.A.L.I.T.Y. Players — “Everyone Qualifies Under Affirmative Lifestyles Independent of Tyranny … Yentl”) named Maurice whose mother is TV’s Helen Willis for some reason.
Still … what the fuck is this about?
So far, I have set up my garden, and I am actively romancing the new members. I cannot wait to see how my garden grows, and what great pinatas I can bring inside. I don’t know the mechanics of having multiple gardens yet, but I am sure that it will have similar capabilities of the XBOX game, because that feature made it great for organizing your pinatas, and keeping the ones that incessantly fight separated from one another.
Can’t understand a word.
Now if you’ll excuse me, Pat Cavanaugh has a Spaghetti-O and Saltine casserole in the oven that requires her attention. It’s Troll Jr.’s favorite dish.