The PK 27 -- Game No. 23

I guess we'll have to save the unorthodox for the next entry, because Pac-Man, that big yellow sonuvabitch with an eating disorder, is our leadoff hitter.

I don't know about you, but when I think of video games, two iconic characters come to mind; and while mustachioed plumbers are cool and all, for me Pac-Man is to gaming what the cross on the Golgotha is to Christianity. See, I can play Mario in many of his iterations, from platformers to 3D, from puzzle games to fucking kart riding, but all I need from Pac-Man is one game. To rule them all. And the cold truth that I will never finish it...well, over the years I have learned to accept my fate.

For I am only human. I am flawed. Sometimes I eat up all my power pellets and get cornered by fruity-colored ghosts. Sometimes I turn left when I should have turned right (or I get run down in the warp tunnel!). Life is hard like that. And while I try to learn from my mistakes, it ain't easy. I oftentimes find myself racing down the same dangerous path, chased by ghosts of my own creation.

It's at those times that I wonder, "What's the point of it all? How does an orange or a bunch of grapes or a damn golden key change my fate? Sure, they may satisfy me in the short term, but eventually I'll lose them all with nothing more to show for it than a measly high score of 143,651*."

Those times can be really hard.

But I try to keep my faith. Because what else is there? Reset? Reset is for cowards. When the going gets tough, the tough get going. I've at times lived on berries and shrubs -- a pineapple is a shrub, right? It looks like one, at least -- in the wilderness, on a single man, and persevered. So will I again, in the future.

Still, I know the future looks bleak. Not a lot of options when you're 28 and trapped in a never-ending maze. It can put hate into your heart, you know? That's when I call on Him. I'm resigned to the fact that I will never reach the 256th level and attain split-screen enlightenment. No one will, especially not Asian-American elementary school student false prophets who trick Ronald Reagan into congratulating them...

Billy, if you're up there, I need a little bit of your strength.



3,333,360




* and an eight-inch cock!