I think I'm turning into one of those curmudgeonly old fellows who are increasingly flummoxed by technology and the choices they've made. To be fair, I never owned an XBox or a Playstation. All the video-games I played as a child were borrowed from other friends (who had uhm, torrent-ed them. You may raise your eyebrows and scowl with disdain, but hey, you try affording a 2000 buck game on an allowance of 'Here's a George Michael cassette tape for your birthday'. It's not possible. The continued conversation, if you're at all interested, went something to the tune of 'What's that? A walkman? Well you'll just have to wait till your next birthday, now won't you?'). I am not ashamed to admit I handle a Playstation controller the way a quivering teenager with raging hormones handles the situation when he's lucky enough to get some. That is to say, I push all the wrong buttons and have no idea if the short erect swiveling thing is supposed to be a joystick. The point I'm trying to make is that plunging into the gaming industry is a thing I did, so I'd finally have a fitting answer to all the years of well-meaning castigation, viz,
-'Stop it with those silly video-games again! It's never going to help you in real life! Have you studied for your Biology test?!'
-'I-'
-'For God's sake child, stop shooting people in the face!'
-'But I can't save-'
-'Go and study right now! All these hours you spend on the computer is the reason the modem doesn't work! And the printer too!'
-'But that's not related-'
-'And the computer repair-guy told me he found some suspicious pictures-'
-'I'm going. I'm going!'
Case en point, a workplace isn't where the faces of female WWE wrestlers are photoshopped onto the bodies of writhing, lissome amateur *cough* actresses and saved in 'My Geography Project' folder and jubilantly discovered by middle-aged computer repairmen, who having done so are no above sharing that titillating information with your hyperventilating mother. Quite the contrary. People here are routinely found to masturbate to Star Wars fandom. But then, I didn't join the industry to attain Level 30 Wizardhood and regain my virginity. I did it so I finally have a response to all the years of snarky remarks like 'Are all these wasted hours going to help you develop games?'. 'Well, it helps pay for my Pornhub subscription', I'd answer. Of course, I jest. Nobody pays for porn.
-'Stop it with those silly video-games again! It's never going to help you in real life! Have you studied for your Biology test?!'
-'I-'
-'For God's sake child, stop shooting people in the face!'
-'But I can't save-'
-'Go and study right now! All these hours you spend on the computer is the reason the modem doesn't work! And the printer too!'
-'But that's not related-'
-'And the computer repair-guy told me he found some suspicious pictures-'
-'I'm going. I'm going!'
Case en point, a workplace isn't where the faces of female WWE wrestlers are photoshopped onto the bodies of writhing, lissome amateur *cough* actresses and saved in 'My Geography Project' folder and jubilantly discovered by middle-aged computer repairmen, who having done so are no above sharing that titillating information with your hyperventilating mother. Quite the contrary. People here are routinely found to masturbate to Star Wars fandom. But then, I didn't join the industry to attain Level 30 Wizardhood and regain my virginity. I did it so I finally have a response to all the years of snarky remarks like 'Are all these wasted hours going to help you develop games?'. 'Well, it helps pay for my Pornhub subscription', I'd answer. Of course, I jest. Nobody pays for porn.
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