FIGHT! FIGHT!

You know what? I've just realized that it's all just a game. They set up the rules and we're all expected to live by them. Except, guess what? We cannot agree which game we're playing. Some play Agnosticism. Some play Judaism. Some play Christianity. Some play Hindu. Some play...well, I could go on listing the little games with their little rules all day, but basically, if you violate those rules, you're screwed. Well, this is where it gets interesting. Then you get to recruit people to play your game instead of theirs...but only if you're playing certain games. It's like this block party. Someone's playing Guestures. The Martins and their guests are playing Scrabble, and the Millers' boy just came by and toppled the card table they were playing on since they were playing football. Now, the Martins are mad and the Miller boy is trying to recruit the Martin boy into playing with him while the folks playing Guestures say they have room for more and someone is trying to set off fireworks. It gets confusing.

Now, imagine, if you will, that no one knows the rules to any of these games or even why they are playing them. "That's just what my family has always done." Oh, also throw in a touch of "Mom always said to stay away from those Jones's, they play Twister, and that's too rough for us."

OK, now let's slip forward 17 generations. The games are still the same, but the rules have been perverted by each successive family in each successive generation: "No, I think you're supposed to hit your butt twice to indicate a two syllable word, not your arm." So now we have all these families and a Gasparilla/Mardi Gras-esque party. What happens when you ask someone to join your game? FIGHT! "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" You get the idea.

Now, let's look at the phenomena of Drunken People Entering My Space Uninvited. Shall we? Now, there are people with mixed up rules of various games who probably don't even remember the original games or the original rules tripping into other people's Space. "hic! Reminds me of the time the Jenga pile fell, and we hazed Aunt Selma for two whole weeks! Two weeks! Hell, I don't even like Jenga anymo--Oops! Sorry Lady, didn't mean to...hear, let me help..oops!" And then Random Lady's Jenga pile collapses. This turns into a heated argument about not believing in the God of Jenga and all his creation being some cheap Milton Bradley wanna be. Once again "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

So, kids, the moral of the story is that we will never "all just get along." Why not leave the party and refuse to play any games. Heck, I'll bet you'd wished you'd have thought of that the next time you see yourself looking down the barrel of a fully loaded, semi-automatic Macy's Thanks Giving Day Parade...or at least diner at your moms. Enjoy! Long live video games!