And sometimes, well, sometimes the bear eats you.

Forgive me reader, for I have sinned.

I’ve fallen off the wagon, and I’ve fallen hard… Things that I thought were behind me, needful, sinful things that should never be mentioned in the light of day, they came back tonight to haunt me.

It’s hard for me to even speak, and yet I must.

I must confess my trespasses, and yet I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I will sin again.

In life, everyone goes through awkward stages. Everyone has periods of social awkwardness, of isolation and uncertainty. Some people turn to drugs, others to art, but me and my ilk? Well, we turn to video games.

To this day there are songs I hear that remind me of places that don’t really exist, of people I’ve never really met, of battles I didn’t really fight in. Jamiroquai reminds me of the Catacombs, Faithless of Duke Nukem and those whacky pipe bombs, Prodigy of that one sniper map with the parking garage… the list goes on and on, associations developed subconsciously and irreversibly just because ALL I DID was play video games during those years. Throughout my peak nerd period in early high school, I’d get home from class and play Diablo, Starcraft, Action Quake, or Paperboy (don’t ask) until 1 or 2 in the morning. Then I’d get up at six, zombie my way through another day of quasi-education, and return to my computer as quickly as possible.

Day in, day out.

I’d sit there, listening to the radio, talking on the phone to friends who were also playing video games, and slay a couple hundred demons before bed. That’s just how things worked. Occasionally, we’d all get together and have a LAN party. Ten to twenty Moreauvians, gathered together around the warm light of the CRT tube, cussing and victory dancing till dawn.

At the time, I thought it was the Golden Age. No responsibilities, just ownage.

More people knew me by my alias than my real name.

However, times change. I’ve grown, I’ve lived, I’ve loved, and I’ve drank. Video games, especially ones without a social aspect, just can’t hook me like they used to. I’d rather play guitar, or dig a huge hole in the lawn for the mailman to fall in, or get hammered and convince my friends to help re-enact the dance sequence from the Smooth Criminal video in my kitchen. Granted, I still play video games every day or two, but a couple hours here and there is nothing compared to the monstrosity of my glory days. The days of addiction are behind me.

The point of all this, kids? The point is, the only reason I’m even writing this is because the World of Warcraft beta servers just crashed and forced me back into reality. Reality which I have been absent from since 6:00 PM. I stopped once to pee and feed the dog at about nine, but not counting that, I’ve been dorking for pretty much eight hours straight. Wow. That’s impressive, even for me.

I feel so ashamed… so dirty…

and I’m going to do it again.

Why? Why do I let myself slip back into The Dark Ages, before I was gainfully employed and decently outgoing and shockingly well dressed?

Because I am Blizzard’s bitch. I admit it.

Every game those fascists have made is ABSOLUTELY GOLDEN. Blizzard is Da Vinci, Shakespeare, Joe Montana, and Bruce Lee all rolled into one when it comes to making video games. Their shit is so clean, so engrossing, so unspeakably fun that I am powerless to stop myself from fiending it until my eyes shrivel and my arms cramp. Starcraft is the National Sport of Korea; Their games are so popular that people around the world make a living playing them, like baseball players but without the tight pants. Tournaments have prizes of hundreds of thousands of dollars, and the victors get endorsement contracts. All because of Blizzard.

And now the fuckers have the gall to make a massively multiplayer game, the best ever created as a matter of course, and let me play it. I’ve been kicking centaur ass, meeting people named Mathara the Darkblade and t0t4ln00b, rescuing elves, making swords, learning to fish (surprisingly fun), and dancing erratically for EIGHT HOURS. That’s a WORK DAY.

Every time I thought I had a handle on the game, and could calm down and get some rest, I’d see something crazy. Some huge fucking tree-beast thing stomps in and steps on my comrades, or I see a new batch of hellhounds that are just asking to get their unholy asses handed to them. And the fucking kicker of all kickers, the motherfucking icing on the cake? THE TROLLS DO CAPOEIRA.


It’s like a team of highly trained government scientists, psychics, sociologists, and psychiatrists got together with a band of programmers to design a game specifically created to MAKE ME FAIL OUT OF SCHOOL.

I’ve kept my habit on the down-low through most of college. People think of me as a normal, active, decent human; a little thin and with a little pale, but nothing overtly weird… I go to parties, I talk to girls, I drink a lot of cheap beer. But fools just don’t know. That lurking dark side is always there, hidden and locked away like an ugly foster child. There’s no escaping it now, though. I might have been shooting up between my toes before, playing one game of DOTA a night or sneaking in a few minutes of Urban Terror now and again without anyone being the wiser, but with me mainlining this shit for EIGHT HOURS at a stretch, people are bound to find out.

My reputation will be destroyed, I’ll get carpal tunnel so bad my hands will look like Stephen Hawking’s, and I’ll lose 30 lbs and sleep 45 minutes a day. Thank god this beta test only lasts a week, or I could do some serious damage. And the best/worst part of it all?

I look around me, and see bags of cheetos and empty pepsi cans reflecting the glow of my monitor, and I listen to the radio and think about all the friends I’m gonna lose and all the experiences I’m missing out on, all the deep emotional connections or really awesome jumpkicks that are going on in the world without me, and you know what?

I don’t give subatomic shit, cuz I just got a new dagger and pick-pocket level 3. I’m gonna find them gnolls who kidnapped the Duchess of Lordaeron, waltz into their cave with the rest of my homies I met at the tavern in Stranglethorn Vale, and dispense some indiscriminate justice on their furry, conniving asses. Nobody kidnaps my aristocracy and gets away with it.

All hail the triumphant return of Trevor the Shameless Nerd, may his reign be l0ng & b3n3v0l3nt.




One Response to “And sometimes, well, sometimes the bear eats you.”

  1. Your my Hero

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