So far I’ve avoided gaming systems. We bought Deb’s parents a Playstation years ago. After they stopped playing it I brought it home in the hopes it would entertain the girls. They weren’t interested and thankfully I wasn’t either. I say thankfully because I don’t need another excuse to sit on the couch. You see, the right system with the right game is the gateway to my 600-pound, bury me in a piano case, evolution.
That said I recently purchased the right system and the right game. It’s Metroid on the Nintendo GameCube.
My sister, Kim discovered Metroid for me. Back in 1986 I would go to her house and play it whenever I could get the Nintendo controller out of her hands. Since then, I’ve had a Metroid Monkey on my back. Lately I’ve been getting my fix from the Game Boy Advance I’ve been carrying around with me on trips for the past few years. It’s really the only game I play (and replay again and again).
If you’ve stuck with this post to this point, then you’re on the edge of your seat wondering why I’d buy a gaming system now. If I was able to resist it all these years, why would I invite one into my home? Well. . .
A couple of weeks ago I noticed some kids literally camping out in front of our local Wal-Mart. They were in their Carhartt coveralls inside a makeshift shelter blocked off with overturned shopping carts. They were waiting for the new Nintendo Wii. It was Friday night. The systems went on sale Sunday morning. I stood in the parking lot and stared at them as they peeked at me from behind their tarps. I wanted to speak with them and find out why they were willing to freeze their balls off for two nights in a Wal-Mart parking lot.
It wasn’t too hard to resist the urge to talk to them. But it occurred to me that with the advent of the Wii eBay would more than likely be swimming with GameCube owners trying to dump their old systems. Sure enough, I found an old GameCube for half what I would have paid for it new. It arrived on Friday and that evening I went out and rented Metroid Prime.
I’ve spent hours downstairs in the basement. The girls sit next to me and provide encouragement but also remind me over and over again that I’m going to die. Dying is fine with Allie because that means I might relinquish the controller so she can experience the joy of blasting War Wasps and Shriekbats.
So far, I think I have it under control. But I’m pretty sure things are going to get ugly. I’ll start missing work. Personal hygiene will get tossed out the window. Anything that distracts me from the game will be met with white hot anger followed by smoldering resentment. Once I hit 400 pounds I won’t be able to make it up the stairs anymore. That’s when I’ll start sneaking the girls toys and cash to bring me food after Debbie starts to refuse. My thumbs will callus and my eyesight will deteriorate to the point where I’ll have the same faculties as a 600-pound, hairless mole.
Right now I'm in the basement with the girls. They're sitting next to me fighting over the GameCube controler like two hyenas with a piece of zebra haunch.
Better reclaim my haunch before things get out of hand.