“What are you trying to do?” I asked my husband as he sat on our couch playing “Halo 3” on his Xbox.
“I’m trying to save the cartographer,” he told me as he proceeded to shoot at some creature that was, in turn, shooting at him.
“Wouldn’t it just be easier to go to ‘Halo’ school and study to be a cartographer?” I asked.
“Probably,” he said. “But that isn’t an option.”
Why was he playing this game that seems to have no point?
“Because,” he informed me, “I know you can’t stand it when I play ‘Grand Theft Auto.’”
That was true. Talk about a waste of energy. I didn’t get it. Maybe it was my chromosome; maybe it was the literary lover in me … but, when I play a game, I want a plot, a purpose, some reason to do whatever it is the game is asking me to do.
GTA, to me, is the lowest form of gameplay. Not only do you shoot at people for no reason, but you win points by breaking the law. Why not have it set up so you can join the police department and get points for turning in your loser friends?
Because my hubby wants me to partake in the game-playing experience, we bought a game called “Rayman Raving Rabbits” – a fun game where cow-tossing and warthog riding give you points.
Yes, it makes very little sense – and, in the long run, pulling worms out of the rotting teeth of a rabbit won’t get you very far. But it is a lot of fun and there are some neurons involved.
And I’ll be looking for “Grand Theft Auto: Police Academy.”
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