Why I always fall in love with women from my video games
It's the middle of the morning and by morning I mean 3:30 am
I am chasing yet another incredible blond down an alley.
Yes, I want to be there even if I have been shot, shot at- yelled at...worse
I am following after her just in case there's an oppurtunity to
give her a boost, to help her up a ledge, maybe-just maybe an embrace
as we board the stolen aircraft or I "catch" her when she falls into my arms
It's times like these I can totally get the birthday cake and romance novel
allure even if I would be passed out waiting for the thrill of a "literary"
moment when the words indicate the inevitable connection between
me the romantic scoundrel and you the voluptuous damsel who doesn't
"need" rescuing but still wants to be kissed like you do.
I get it, I get it, its all fantasy. No real woman is like this, that woman has
respect, power, skills, she is flesh and blood and blue jeans and dirty
tee shirts and messy hair and her bra doesn't always fit right
she isn't some perfect geek's interpretation of a video game bimbo
So why this? Why me? I am an intelligent man who can see more
than a very nice package of pixels.
I will tell you why- like I told my brother all those years ago when he said
all I really wanted was a nice little wife who would bring me my slippers.
I don't want the video game bimbo, I don't want to rescue the princess like Mario
or Luigi, I don't expect some fainting damsel from the fairy tale books
No I would rather chase a non-bodacious woman down an alley
at 3am who is pissed off with dual colt slide action video game guns
with almost unlimited ammo, weapons blazing mouth going almost
as fast stopping only to ask me sweetly for another mag as she is about
to run dry as we plummet down the elevator shaft while running the bad guys
away from the cast iron monstrosity that is currently destroying
the quaint scenic video game setting with ludicrous speed
I am happy like a teenager at times like these becuase I can stop
being the good guy I am and be a slightly more scandalous good guy
I dream of being. When I play that video game, it's not the fame
the gamer rep, even the awesomeness of trophies and awards that
make my avatar glow like a nova in the galaxy, no it's the warmth
of her smile, the slip of her grin, the chatter of her repertoire like the
spattering of Uzi gunfire, she is never a Power Girl more like
Elaine, like the new Lara, the Old Christine, the allure of a dozen other
spunky, sassy and yes sexy always sexy tough gals that have me playing video
games denying my own reality which is devoid of such fantasies.
It's my answer, the answer, the long way round it mostly so I can spend more
time with her, the video game queen. So divorce your sense of
what you think a bytee size chick is going to be in some Geek's ideal
and remember that the answer is not reality- it's some psychological mumbo jumbo
for my total lack of self-respect and some post modern explanation
for why I have such poor female relationships.....
no that is actually BS. But it doesn't put me to bed at night without
one last virtual fling off a burning building in a hail of bullets
just for the imaginary touch of the heroine's fingers in freefall.
It's the middle of the morning and by morning I mean 3:30 am
I am chasing yet another incredible blond down an alley.
Yes, I want to be there even if I have been shot, shot at- yelled at...worse
I am following after her just in case there's an oppurtunity to
give her a boost, to help her up a ledge, maybe-just maybe an embrace
as we board the stolen aircraft or I "catch" her when she falls into my arms
It's times like these I can totally get the birthday cake and romance novel
allure even if I would be passed out waiting for the thrill of a "literary"
moment when the words indicate the inevitable connection between
me the romantic scoundrel and you the voluptuous damsel who doesn't
"need" rescuing but still wants to be kissed like you do.
I get it, I get it, its all fantasy. No real woman is like this, that woman has
respect, power, skills, she is flesh and blood and blue jeans and dirty
tee shirts and messy hair and her bra doesn't always fit right
she isn't some perfect geek's interpretation of a video game bimbo
So why this? Why me? I am an intelligent man who can see more
than a very nice package of pixels.
I will tell you why- like I told my brother all those years ago when he said
all I really wanted was a nice little wife who would bring me my slippers.
I don't want the video game bimbo, I don't want to rescue the princess like Mario
or Luigi, I don't expect some fainting damsel from the fairy tale books
No I would rather chase a non-bodacious woman down an alley
at 3am who is pissed off with dual colt slide action video game guns
with almost unlimited ammo, weapons blazing mouth going almost
as fast stopping only to ask me sweetly for another mag as she is about
to run dry as we plummet down the elevator shaft while running the bad guys
away from the cast iron monstrosity that is currently destroying
the quaint scenic video game setting with ludicrous speed
I am happy like a teenager at times like these becuase I can stop
being the good guy I am and be a slightly more scandalous good guy
I dream of being. When I play that video game, it's not the fame
the gamer rep, even the awesomeness of trophies and awards that
make my avatar glow like a nova in the galaxy, no it's the warmth
of her smile, the slip of her grin, the chatter of her repertoire like the
spattering of Uzi gunfire, she is never a Power Girl more like
Elaine, like the new Lara, the Old Christine, the allure of a dozen other
spunky, sassy and yes sexy always sexy tough gals that have me playing video
games denying my own reality which is devoid of such fantasies.
It's my answer, the answer, the long way round it mostly so I can spend more
time with her, the video game queen. So divorce your sense of
what you think a bytee size chick is going to be in some Geek's ideal
and remember that the answer is not reality- it's some psychological mumbo jumbo
for my total lack of self-respect and some post modern explanation
for why I have such poor female relationships.....
no that is actually BS. But it doesn't put me to bed at night without
one last virtual fling off a burning building in a hail of bullets
just for the imaginary touch of the heroine's fingers in freefall.
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