Listen, here’s the deal: there is absolutely nothing wrong with liking video games if you’re a child, but that needs to be the limit. The very moment you become 18 years old, you must pick up an adult hobby; something mature like knitting or staring at a wall until your eyes fall out of your head and you fucking die.
Sorry gamers, but I am the arbiter of hobbies and you must comply.
Let’s start with Mario, for example. The red and blue overalls look is iconic and there’s nothing wrong with sporting a nice mustache. And also, you know… Bowser… uh…
OK.
I’m realizing more and more as I write this that I don’t actually have that much to say on this topic. As a column writer, though, I feel an increasing pressure to have not just the right opinions, but the best opinions. I need to have the only opinions. I need to distill a take so hot, it’s still glowing orange as I pull it out of my head.
This process has turned my brain into an apple sauce type mixture, filled with nothing but strange thoughts convincing me that every single person on Earth is operating under the same bizarre pressure. I assume that every person I interact with is making up their opinions to impress others. No one actually has beliefs. We’re all just playing a game.
Well NOT a game, because we’re adults. Gaming is for fucking children and if you disagree with me, you have an inferior mind. One you probably can’t even scoop into your mouth with a spoon.
I guess, at the end of the day, who am I to judge? I don’t really care how you spend your little lives as long as you click on my posts and tell me I’m a smart little boy. And no, that doesn’t mean I’ve “gamified” my life. I’ve adultified it. If you need me, I’ll be staring at this wall until I fucking die.
Check out our comedy podcast The Video Game Super Show! Show, in which two of our editors watch and discuss every episode of 1989’s Captain N: The Game Master:
