Next month's release of the Wii U marks the end of the GameCube's distinctive controller as a method for manipulating Nintendo games, but the color-coded buttons and sticks will always remain a method for making well-dressed attractive people look as if they are playing video games and not just smiling vacantly into a…
"What, it's just harmless anime! It's not like helpless school girls are ever attacked by lascivious multi-tentacled creatures hell-bent on human exploration in real life."
That sly look. The firm grip on the joystick. The dramatic pause. No, she's not flirting with you. She's warning you. Here comes her ultimate super move.
She's a female gamer. She's an attractive Asian woman. She's not exactly the core demographic for a competitive online shooter, but she's got an ace up her sleeve, and possibly a bouquet of fake flowers.
You've all been there. You're sitting there against a black backdrop, playing Call of Honor or Medal of Duty or whatever, when all of the sudden you're struck by the sneaking suspicion that there's a sexy machine woman standing right behind you. Ha, if I had a dime for every time I got that feeling!
We've all been there, Girl Who Stores Game Controllers In Her Underwear. Sometimes, it gets really hot outside. You're sitting in your apartment in your underwear, playing some video games to make the sweltering afternoon go by faster.
She's a model. She's a gamer. She's a nuclear physicist. She's an incredibly accomplished young woman.
We've all been there, Ragequitting Baby. You're playing a quick round of capture the flag online, and there's this guy on the other team who just won't. Stop. Killing you. And as he does so, he lets loose an unending stream of invective, racial slurs, and all manner of other disgusting language.
Being an orange is hard. You grow up on a tree, surrounded by friends, only to be plucked at your ripest, crated, and shipped off to a grocery store, destined to be devoured by health-conscious shoppers.
Oh, no. Grandpa. That look in your eyes. That clenched grimace. That loose, delicate grip on your controller's joysticks, as if you aren't really playing anything at all.
How... how could this be? I had it. I really thought I had it.
Oh, Little Girl Who Just Found Porn On Her Brother's DS. I'm so sorry this happened to you. On behalf of brothers everywhere, I apologize.
Joy. Bliss. Serenity.
I can't help but admire you, Enthusiastic Guy With Incredibly Supportive Girlfriend. You've really got it going on: great hair, winning smile, clearly very handsome despite your thick designer glasses, nicely chosen prep shirt.
What made Techno Soldier so angry? Was it an unfortunate round of Call of Duty? Did someone call his mother nasty names? Is he cosplaying the angriest bird?
To see these two boys playing video games is to see true brotherly love, the kind of unparalleled passion that can only be found in suburban living rooms, resting on postmodern sofa cushions with spotless decorum.
If only I were younger. If only I were more bored and more blonde. If only I didn't have this damnable compulsion to make sure my controllers match not only each other, but the system I am playing on. Perhaps then I could be one of the bored blonde gaming teenagers.