Bad influences
For those of you out there who still doubt the pernicious influence video games exert over the frail human mind, I would like to relay the story of my friend, an Australian whom I'll call Mr. White.
When we first met in China over a decade ago, Mr. White was a peace-loving socialist who rejected all forms of violence and indeed any exposure by young, impressionable minds to brutal, bloodthirsty spectacles such as a professional rugby match.
Ten years of watching the heavy hand of a communist government at work more or less cured Mr. White of his predilections towards the left end of the political spectrum. Today he would probably describe himself as more libertarian than anything else, though he still has a soft spot in his heart for things like universal health care, public transport, and child labor laws.
But as recently as last year, Mr. White was a staunch opponent of horrific, uncivilized phenomenon such as high school football games, viewing them as a ritualistic throwback to a more barbaric age. His repulsion at all forms of violence extended to video games, and he on several occassions conveyed his horror at titles like "Grand Theft Auto" and the like, which he felt sure would, at any moment, trigger some long-forgotten genetic tripwire and send millions of the world's youth into a killing frenzy.
While I can't be sure what exactly brought about the subsequent change in Mr. White's outlook, if pressed I would have to say it was the day he found you could shoot Nazis in "Return to Castle Wolfenstein", which I happened to be demonstrating for him on the Xbox one winter evening.
Several months ago he watched, fascinated, as I played "Doom 3", blasting the flesh off of zombie soldiers, and blowing apart flying heads with a blizzard of armor piercing rounds from a chain gun.
I met Mr. White for lunch last week. The day before, he called and asked me to bring "Doom 3". He wanted to try it out. I informed him at lunch that his 5-year-old machine almost certainly couldn't handle the graphical load of the game but that he could find the original "Doom" and try that out.
That evening, Mr. White called, the excitement clearly audible in his voice.
"Man, I am addicted! I am a killing machine! 'Doom' rocks! I am never leaving my apartment again," he gushed.
"Between porn and 'Doom', what else could you possibly need?" I asked.
"Man, who needs porn!" he shouted, and hung up.
I sent him an e-mail today asking about his progress in fighting the Hellish hordes. Here is his response:
When we first met in China over a decade ago, Mr. White was a peace-loving socialist who rejected all forms of violence and indeed any exposure by young, impressionable minds to brutal, bloodthirsty spectacles such as a professional rugby match.
Ten years of watching the heavy hand of a communist government at work more or less cured Mr. White of his predilections towards the left end of the political spectrum. Today he would probably describe himself as more libertarian than anything else, though he still has a soft spot in his heart for things like universal health care, public transport, and child labor laws.
But as recently as last year, Mr. White was a staunch opponent of horrific, uncivilized phenomenon such as high school football games, viewing them as a ritualistic throwback to a more barbaric age. His repulsion at all forms of violence extended to video games, and he on several occassions conveyed his horror at titles like "Grand Theft Auto" and the like, which he felt sure would, at any moment, trigger some long-forgotten genetic tripwire and send millions of the world's youth into a killing frenzy.
While I can't be sure what exactly brought about the subsequent change in Mr. White's outlook, if pressed I would have to say it was the day he found you could shoot Nazis in "Return to Castle Wolfenstein", which I happened to be demonstrating for him on the Xbox one winter evening.
Several months ago he watched, fascinated, as I played "Doom 3", blasting the flesh off of zombie soldiers, and blowing apart flying heads with a blizzard of armor piercing rounds from a chain gun.
I met Mr. White for lunch last week. The day before, he called and asked me to bring "Doom 3". He wanted to try it out. I informed him at lunch that his 5-year-old machine almost certainly couldn't handle the graphical load of the game but that he could find the original "Doom" and try that out.
That evening, Mr. White called, the excitement clearly audible in his voice.
"Man, I am addicted! I am a killing machine! 'Doom' rocks! I am never leaving my apartment again," he gushed.
"Between porn and 'Doom', what else could you possibly need?" I asked.
"Man, who needs porn!" he shouted, and hung up.
I sent him an e-mail today asking about his progress in fighting the Hellish hordes. Here is his response:
I am stuck in the toxic shelter on doom one. The openning two sections didn't impress me much. But I worked out how to crank up the violence in the toxic shelter. Doom gets crafty in the toxic shelter. I battled my way into a fucking deadend ambush: I pulled the switch to be confronted by four fucking imps. I buckshoted the fuckers then was forced to backtrack to the beginning. A locked door suddenly opens and I confronted by a wall of buckshot. I can't killer the fuckers quick enough. Shocked and awed.Elemenohpee: creating hyperviolent psychotic zomboid killers, one pacifist at a time.
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