I had a very lazy day yesterday; leftover Chinese for breakfast, Peanut butter and jam on bread for lunch. (Daily vegetable intake for the day: zero. Unless... can peanut substitute as a vegetable? Please?) It was a day conducive to gaming, so that's what I did.
I decided to play Nazi Zombies - a simple yet fun game where you and three other players fight off wave upon wave of evil nazi zombies.
The first player I encountered had a relatively high-pitched voice. I assumed it belonged to a male whose testicles had yet to descend until I heard the voice say, "Sweetie, drink your water or you'll get thirsty."
"Who are you talking to?" I asked.
"My daughter," she answered.
"Oh, how old is she?"
"You uh, let your daughter watch Nazi Zombies?"
Which fyi looks like this:
"Yup," she said. "She's actually laughing right now at the way they walk around."
Then, as I performed headshot after headshot, a second player piped in with, "Hey guys, I'm just gonna be gone for a sec. I can hear my daughter crying in the other room. Cover me for a sec alright?"
So I moved to that player’s now motionless avatar to provide defensive gunfire should a zombie get too close.
He returned shortly with, “Hey guys. I’m real sorry I’m gonna have to leave. My daughter just threw up all over her bed.”
At this stage I was wondering what had happened to all the teenagers in the world so I asked the third player in our group, “Hey mate, how old are you?”
“Me? I’m 27,” he said.
“Whew!” I thought. My age. The guy sounded young and I figured he was someone much like myself; just relaxing during the holidays, still taking life easy.
“Well,” I said jokingly as I lobbed a grenade into a group of zombies. “Looks like you need a daughter to play in this room.”
“I’ve got 2 of ‘em,” he said.
What?! So evidently I'd just stumbled into the Parents with Young Children who play Violent Videogames room.
Just then the mother-of-3-year-old (who hence forth will be referred to as ‘Motyo’) interrupted with, “Hey can someone cover me? My daughter’s passed out on my bed. I should move her to her bed.”
“This is getting ridiculous,” I thought as I stabbed a zombie in the chest before moving to cover yet another motionless avatar. I couldn’t see how this style of game-play was sustainable.
A few rounds later I heard Motyo say, “Sweetie, you’ve got to stay in your own bed. Daddy’s taking you out tomorrow at 10am. You need your rest - oh shit, what the hell was that?! That zombie just came out of nowhere!”
All I can say is, I was happy when the zombies finally managed to overwhelm us.
The next game I played was a much happier affair involving myself (an Australian), an Englishman, an American and a Swede. But that’s a story for another time.