In the electronics department of a store, and father and son stand infront of a shelf of games. Most have grotesque covers featuring explosions and rabid beasts. A few are pink, to appease girls and the rating board. The father, cleary baffled by the entertainment selection, points to a metallic red box.
"So, what's this game, son?"
"You perform surgeries. Really realistic. Blood 'n guts 'n stuff."
"Ah. And this one?" He motions to a box with a large gavel is emblazoned on the cover.
"Lawyer. You defend the people accussed of decapitating the people in the medical game."
"I see...And this?" This box has an innocent cow grazing on a field.
"Farmer. You...farm. Your sickle doesn't work on humans, though. That'd be cool."
"I'm sure. This?" A fat guy with a mustache. Maybe you make pizzas in this game. Or, more likely, are in the mafia.
"A plumber. But you save princesses instead of fixing septic tanks."
"Any violence?"
"Well, they're pretty mean to turtles."
"Hmm."
"So come on Dad, what game you gonna get?"
"There's this game I used to play with my buddies when I was your age. It was pretty intense. One-on-one. Before the game, the guy you play with is your friend. Someone you joke around with, throw a football with. But during the game...during the game, it's all about one thing. It's all about making that shot. The double-whammy. First, you have to make the hit. Make sure you're still in the game. Then it's all about timing. Position. Angle. Where's his weak spot? You gotta hit him where it hurts. Where he's not guarded. Do a feint up, then slam that baby into his empty lower corner. And he knows that it's too late. He knows he's lost. You won't be looking at eachother, because your eyes will be fixed on the screen, but in the reflection you'll see his face, his expresssion. His defeat. And how every note of the victory song is an invisible punch, beating him down. A minute later, he'll forget about it. You'll forget about it too. It won't seem to matter ever again. But then a day like this'll come, and you can tell your son...you can tell him about the day his father was a winner."
Silence in the store. An eight year old clutching a bloody war simulation drops the game on the floor and runs to his mommy. A couple of nearby shoppers slowly back away, pretending to be fascinated by a special edition dvd of country music videos -- now with exclusive behind-the-scences footage! A bulky, shavenhead salesman grips the walkie-talkie on his belt and darts a suspicious look towards the father.
"Dad," his son son, face burning red his embarrassment. "Stop talking about Pong like that. You sound insane. It scares people." Blinded with shame, the boy quickly plucks a game off the shelf and hastily pays for it, still unable to thoroughly identify what he is buying. Only when both father and son are in the safety of the with tinted windows, does the son tentatively pull the game out of the bag. He should've looked at what he was buying. He really should've. But what game could his father tell worse stories about then Pong? He looks at the game. Simualtaneously, the boy's jaw drops and the father grins with excitement. "Nice choice, son. I have a bunch of stories about Ms. Pacman."
So, well, I've never actually played Pong before...but the concept seemed simple enough to understand. xD
And some of the games mentioned are actual games, and some...well, that would be an interesting game, to say the least.
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