I don’t consider myself the most nostalgic individual.  Yes, I still enjoy SWAT Kats from time to time, but some things I’ve learned to let go of.  The music I listened to in my angrier days is all of the sudden less angry.  The masterpiece I thought Final Fantasy VII was isn’t necessarily the awe-inspiring becon of brilliance it was then.

However, I also do not consider myself a family man.  Probably the exact opposite, to be honest.  I have my own sense of humor, and if my drink smells funny to you, that’s probably because it is.  Enjoy your cider, my butterscotch shots are calling and they taste like candy.  As if it being the holiday wasn’t enough, I’ve somehow managed to find myself babysitting two of my second-cousins.  They’re half-black.  Not that it matters, but it’s pertinent information, so remember that.

Of course, I knew in advanced these pillow-biters were coming, and I knew they both played video games.  I figured it’d be an easy gig, we’d play some Left 4 Dead, have some fun, whatever.  The day of arrival, they get to my house at one.  In the morning.  I’m sucking down a Red Stripe like it’s a gorgeous nipple dripping future-tense inebriation and playing Team Fortress 2.  The boy, who’ll be referred to as AJ, approaches me while I’m kill-streaking as an Engineer.

“What’s that?” he asks.  I’m glad you asked that, let me tell you.  It’s Team Fortress 2, and it’s been ages since I’ve played such an  endearing game.

“Looks kinda like Halo.”

Thus began the days of perpetual rage.  I’ve heard about people considering Halo to be the forefather of first-person shooters, but in the days of the internet you tend to consider everyone who says it to be joking.  Little did I know that this phenomenon is very real, very obnoxious, and very… close in proximity.  Is my allegiance to first-person shooters?  Of course not.  Goldeneye was my first, Unreal Tournament was my favorite.  Halo doesn’t stand anywhere on that ranking, to be honest.  If people consider “innovation” to mean “just walk away and you won’t die,” then perhaps they should meet Doom guy for a few moments.  Though, I digress.

I tried, I really did.  Asked him if he wanted to try out Left 4 Dead.  His response?  “I tried the demo, seemed to much like Halo with zombies.”  What?  How the fuck can you say that?  Finally, I coax him into it after showing him some of the gameplay.  I did this on advanced, because normal is a joke.  He asks for the controller in his ghetto-fabulous language and I suggest he turn down the difficulty just a smidge.

“No dude, I got this.”

Are you sure about that, chief?

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Now, I’m not implying that watching the undead rape a defenseless black child is funny (though I’m guessing the mental picture may’ve made you crack a smile, and it’s ok, I did too), but I’ve played this.  Extensively.  I’m just trying to help you out, kid.  The rape never stopped and I wound up getting him to the second safe house on Death Toll before passing it back.  All the while I’m explaining the mechanics of the Director, about how the better you are, the more difficult it will make things.  Just as the words “so”, “watch” and “out” escape my chapped lips, I hear the witch crying.  I panic, he doesn’t seem to get it.

“Turn off your flashlight.”

“Why?  I need it to see.”

“There’s a witch here, and if you shine it, she’ll push your shit in.”

He sees it.  Turns his flashlight off.

“Good, just sneak by her and-”

He starts walking toward her.

“What’re you doing?!”

“It’s ok, I got this bro.”

He dumps a magazine of shotgun ammo into her, then bludgeons her with his shotgun butt.

“Told ya.”

The game informs him he’s startled the witch(!)

“How do I pull out my shotgun?!”

“You can’t when you’re incapped.”

The game informs him the survivors are no more.

“I don’t feel like playing this game.”

“That’s cool,” I say as I grab a manilla CD sleeve with something special nestled inside of it.  “I’ve got the Resident Evil 5 demo.”

Just as I inform him that I am so awesome because a nerd I know handed me a burned copy (true story), I put it in and pass him the controller.  He proceeds to tell me about how much he loved Resident Evil 4 and how many times he’d beaten it.  Even went so far as to say he unlocked the infinite launcher.  That’s nice kiddo, but what about the Chicago typewriter?

“The what?”

The god damn Tommy gun.

“Uh.”

The handcannon?

“What is that?”

Sigh.  The laser?

“I didn’t know you could get one of those!”

Load up Resident Evil 5.  In the first short minutes of the intro, he said what I knew was coming.  “Why’d this have to take place in Africa?”  Why the fuck not?  How many white zombies do you see getting gunned down?  Damn near all of them.  Not to mention, Resident Evil 4 took place in Spain and he fucking loved that.  Nevermind the irony in all of the comments about Jewish people he felt necessary to make afterward, but that’s a separate story all it’s own.  You’re in Africa, the zombies will be Africans.  Go figure.

He proceeds to play.  Horribly.  I’ve never seen a kid shoot so much dirt in my life, and he’s barreling off shots like the game hands it to him free of charge.  He dies over and over again, ignoring the most obvious of advantages the game practically handed to him.  So much for being awesome with your Resident Wiivil 4 and your waggling, ‘ey kiddo?

After that brief encounter, my little brother decides to finish his game on Shadow of the Colossus.

“Is that Prince of Persia?”

“You nigger.”

“What’d you say?!”

“The enemies are bigger.”

“Oh, I thought you said-”

“What? ‘Nigger’?”

“Um.. y-yeah.”

End of night one.  I cap things off by finishing off my Red Stripes and awkwardly laughing whenever Oblivion asks me: “Do you really want to be a Dark Elf?”

I wake up the next morning and grief Call of Duty 4 on the PS3.  It’s fun hearing Arabic people tell me my mother is a “sheet” and my father is a “sheet” and I am a “sheet.”  A “dry sheet.”  He wakes up and watches me play, and asks me if I’m trying to suck on purpose.

Why, yes.  Yes I am.  I show him the hospitable messages the fines denizens of the world have been leaving me and he laughs, which is good.  Then, he proceeds to tell me about how much ass he kicks on Call of Duty.  I offer him the controller, and it’s slaughter.  Having Call of Duty 4 for both the PS3 and 360, I think I can safely make the call that PSN users are a bit more casual than the 360 group.  I hear those frat boys with Cheetoh stains on their A&F shirts can be pretty mean after a Weiser or two.

I decide to cut the sodomy short and ask him if he wants to play Halo 3.  His eyes light up and he says sure, so I turn on my 360 and… what’s this?  This isn’t my profile.

“Oh, I meant to tell you.  I took out your hard drive while you were asleep.”

You did… what.  Ok, ok.  Calm down.  Just play the damn game.

So, we’re on High Ground, starting weapons are terrible, it’s like an actual match.  The ending score was 75-32, my only weapon(s) being dual SMG’s.  During the extensive length of this tenure, I was suffering trash talk at the behest of the self-proclaimed king of grenade “bouncing”.  Oh… kay…

I decide to end things early that night and play some Witcher when I hear something.. oddly familiar.  I believe that’s… Yeah.  That’s Naruto Ultimate Ninja on my 360.  This is the part where I laugh and lose the battle.

Next to last day, and I just want to sleep.  I’ve had to endure nonsense about how this kid doesn’t let people even bring PS3’s to his house because he so despises the console, even his sing-alongs with Naruto dialog.  I’m ready for this shit to end like right now.  I hop on the desktop, load up Command and Conquer Generals: Zero Hour after something catches my eye.  The memory card for a sibling’s digital camera is lodged in my computer.  With MySpace photos.  Cleverly angled ones.  I facepalm and search around a little bit more.  This poor child had left himself logged in, so I took the liberty of browsing around.  Basketball  players?  Check.  Rappers with Bart Simpson bling?  Check.   Naruto?  Che-wait, what?  Naruto?

I saved as much data from his MySpace page as I possibly could, and added a second e-mail account named “Moonjamin Franklin,” a title I’m particularly happy about.  It might take a little while, but it’s coming, kid.  Your password’s been saved in Forefox’s cache, I’m going to enjoy that destruction very, very much.  This was made apparent whenever I read what he’d written in the “what are you doing” field.  His entry?

“I spent my day watching nerds play video games.”

That was the final straw.  I tolerated the Naruto, the comparison between every game I liked to Halo, the constant spoiled brat-ishness, even that one game where you killed iconic mythical creatures and howled like a madman doing it.  No, I do not want to see Minotaurs die, I want to see them live happily in a land full of Narwhals and Sasquatches and Giant Squids who serve tea with all eight tendrils.  Delicious motherfuckering tea.  You may consider that nerdish behavior, but between this kid and me, one of us watches Naruto and edits their Myspace templates religiously, the other does not.  I have a social life I rather enjoy, I’ll be bartending butterscotch shots and amaretto sours at a house-warming party in just a few days.  The other one will be stuck behind a computer screen constantly eyeing his MySpace page.

I’ll be driving this kid to North Carolina today, and it’ll be a long trip.  You better believe there will be a significant amount of gore-grind and drone metal blaring in my vehicle.