With the latest release of the anti-Christ of videogame series, GTA, in the shops this week, I thought I should bring to the attention of you, my goodly flock, some other works of the devil and the RECORDED INFLUENCES they have had on me and mine. Be warned.
Food for thought
I first discovered the heinous, personality-changing properties of this so-called entertainment medium when having the misfortune to experience something called Pac-Man. This abhorrent rubbish cast me as a character whose one role in life was to eat. The more he/I ate, the more points I accrued and once I had devoured everything on the level, I began a new level and started troughing again.
The only sensible character in the game who tried to make me see sense and stop eating was a ghost, or more specifically a group of ghosts. These were no doubt the spirits of Pac-Man's erstwhile friends who had eaten themselves to death in the past. They had clearly learnt from their stomach-abusing ways and chased my jaundiced alter-ego trying to halt my self-destructive gorging.
My response? Did I thank the phantoms for their learned advice from beyond the grave? No. I simply swallowed a narcotic pill, altered my world in some hallucinogenic fashion and (I find it hard to type these words) ate the souls of the departed. Can you believe this got past the censors?
But the horror did not stop there. Back in reality, I found myself consuming more and more. I put on at least 2 pounds in the two week trial playing this, and always hungered for more. The most disgusting aspect was that my appetites leaned towards... the dead - no doubt due to the supernatural (some might say, satanic) overtones of the game.
The non-living flesh of animals and plants became my sole foodstuffs, and while I was unsuccessful in my attempts to consume the lifeforce of those trying to 'cross over'; I was able to snuff out the lives of millions of organisms by devouring a multipack of Yakult. I could barely look at myself in the mirror.
Years later, I felt rehabilitated. My sky-rocketing weight had returned to normal and all-thoughts of masticating on a manifestation had passed. But my trials at the hands of this Mephistophelean hobby were far from over.
Simpathy for the devil
SimCity was next, or should I say SinCity? This 'game' saw me gifted with the power of God as I manipulated the innocent denizens of a modern city. I could make their little lives happy or sad, easy or arduous and if I so desired, I could wipe them from the face of the planet with a natural disaster perfectly placed for maximum destruction.
Natural disasters aren't funny. Manipulating people's very existence isn't big or clever and is most certainly not a role for a mere mortal such as myself. Sickening.
My despotic tendencies bled over into real life. I rearranged my lounge to maximise space and ease of movement, petitioned my local MP to have a roundabout installed at the end of my road to aid traffic throughput and perhaps most startling of all, I watched Twister starring Bill "out-of-Aliens" Paxton... with a smile on my face. The remnants of a Godzilla poster still bedeck my daughter's bedroom today.
A chill down the spines
The evil influence to which I next succumbed was Sonic: The Hedgehog. In this game, the title character - a defenceless mammal - is forced to run as fast as it can around a hazard-filled assault course, dodging spikes, deadly drops and violent robots, in order to collect golden rings no doubt to placate some unseen abuser.
The hedgehog is much faster than the animals you find snuffling around your garden at three in the morning, and his blue colouring and upright stance indicate this is due to genetic manipulation. There is no option in the game to rescue this sad victim of vivisection and set it free in a municipal park somewhere in Greater London, it is simply run and collect or die. Very Orwellian.
The real world ramifications of this game were shocking. I began to do everything faster; after a quick game or two before work (when I should have been ironing my shirt) I found myself wolfing down my Golden Grahams and sprinting for the 8.05 to
The obsession with jewellery increased as a DIRECT RESULT of Sonic the Hedgehog. Katya, my basque-wearing, yogic girlfriend, was showered with the finest gifts Ratners had to offer. At her suggestion, I further sated my addiction by gifting gold and jewels on her family, even the ones yet to be granted a Visa into the
With my money gone and Katya along with it, Sonic the Hedgehog had obliterated my life and my happiness. My only two comforts were that I hadn't become warped enough by this reprehensible game to try experimenting on animals, and that Sigmund, my cat, seemed to have finally taken to his new red trainers.
The Fourth Horseman of a Apocalypse
Now there's a new threat to the sanity of me and my world. With GTA IV offering driving, walking, swimming, running, jumping, flying and the Lord only knows what else, I worry that I may leave the house and never come home, so great is the influence of Houser's hedonistic heroin.
Ban this sick filth!