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ExamForce :: Article Archive :: Newsletter Article
 The Cert Times: IT Edition Article Archive
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| A Cure, A Machine (B1N@RY N@T10N (A.J. Axline)) |
"Could you please repeat what you just said?" I asked, holding one hand over my eyes in an expression of resignation. "And when I say 'repeat' what I really mean is, could you turn around and walk out of the room without saying another word?"
"I've developed the first adult-oriented game for the Nintendo Wii," Vector replied in an act of flagrant disregard for my expressed wishes.
"Hm hmm," I said, mentally searching for a way out of the conversation that was surely, inevitably to come. "And by adult-oriented game, you mean a game that contains violent images and language that may be unsuitable for younger players."
"Well, sort of," Vector said.
I sighed.
"Or, by adult-oriented game, do you mean that you've developed a game whereby players use the Wii controller to manipulate some form of onscreen carnal relations?" I asked.
"You make it sound so... seamy," Vector sniffed.
"Vector, do you remember what one of our New Year's resolutions for 2007 is?" I asked.
"Ummm... it was kind of late when we were talking crazy like that," Vector said, scratching his head. "Are you referring to the thing with the rabbit and the necktie?"
"No, I'm referring to the 'no new lawsuits in January' resolution," I snapped. "Also known as the 'our defense fund is emptier than Cheney's soul' resolution."
"Well, if you're going to get political about it..." Vector said huffily.
"I can't help it. If you can't make fun of politicians, celebrities, lawyers, celebrity lawyers, celebrities who play lawyers and/or politicians, and Tori Spelling, then who are you supposed to make fun of?"
"Tori Spelling is a celebrity," Vector argued.
"No, Tori Spelling is someone you stalked for two weeks back when you met her while you were working as a best boy on the set of Troop Beverly Hills."
"Oh Tori," Vector said, his eyes growing faint and distant. "My sweet, sweet Tori."
I grew uncomfortable in the silence that followed.
"ANYway," I said rather loudly, snapping Vector back into this time-space continuum before he could fade out entirely into Galaxy 90210, "we were discussing (in an act of flagrant disregard for my expressed wishes) your so-called 'entertainment product' for the Wii."
"Do you want to hear what it's called?" Vector asked.
"Part of me does," I admitted. "The part of me that takes two newspapers out of the coin box when I've only paid for one. The part of me that giggles when I see a small child fall down and skin its knee."
"That should actually be 'his or her knee' and not 'its'," Vector said. "You really shouldn't--"
"The part of me that cheats at computer Scrabble," I plowed ahead. "The part of me that sniffs my dirty laundry before throwing it in the washing machine. The part of me that secretly delights in the misfortune of others. The part of me that only tips 7% when I'm having a bad day. The part of me that writes letters to city council outlining a detailed plan for turning street people into an alternative fuel source. The part of me that looks in the toilet before I flush. That part of me would love to hear what your new game is called."
It isn't often that Vector steps back away from me. On this occasion, he helped himself to two steps.
"Hey, look man--" he began to say.
"No, I'm sorry," I said. "If you want to create explicit adult software for consoles and release it on the black market, you should do so with vigor. Code yourself a french maid fantasy and call it 'Oui Wii'. Hell, I'm not a saint. I wasn't even nominated this year (thanks a lot, Vatican City). I'm just cranky about the new year."
"Anything in particular?" Vector asked.
"Where's my flying car?" I asked. "Where's my laser pistol? Technology is such a let-down sometimes. Want an example? Cancer is still kicking our asses. Cancer, for crying out loud. We're still irradiating people or giving them toxic drugs, just like we did back in the 1940's when we shot lymphoma patients full of mustard gas. Might as well be bleeding cancer patients with leeches. But," I said with a bitter laugh, "we have Viagra and Cialis, by god. At least rich white men can still get an erection after a long day of vetoing stem cell research that could possibly lead to treatments and cures for several diseases and injuries."
I sat down on the couch, and ran my hands through my hair.
"I know that we've done some amazing technology-based things over the last twenty years," I sighed. "Some of those things are completely frivilous, and I and millions of people enjoy them immensely. There is nothing wrong with monkey games. It's either that, or the opiates. But our generation has been waiting for something big, something to galvanize the world. A cure. A machine. Something, anything to show that there was a reason for coming down from the trees other than reality TV, cheeseburgers, and X-rated everything and anything."
"Something for our generation. A cure. A machine. Something," I said. "Something spectacular. Our man on the moon. Our polio vacccine. Not just iPods and better cleaners, and stain-free pants and the Internet."
Vector sat down in the easy chair, and gave me a look.
"Not every generation gets one of those things," he said. "Maybe we're part of the 'just passing through' generation. That doesn't mean you should downplay what we've done so far."
"Like what?" I asked.
"Dude, this column doesn't have enough space left for that conversation," Vector smiled. "We have done some stuff, trust me."
"I still want a flying car," I said. "And a laser pistol."
"And I want you to have those things," Vector said, "if only to take some law enforcement attention away from me."
A.J. Axline is the creator of Closet Universe, and would probably be less dangerous with a laser pistol than a flying car.
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Posted by
nam on 29/01/2007 10:23 |
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