This is a fictional story I wrote after playing a lot of Target Terror. Outside of using my real name and the fact that Target Terror was located in a laundromat arcade--this is a work of fiction.
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| Didn't you used to be Area 54? |
Ahem….excuse me, pardon me. I don’t mean to intrude but you see we have a problem. Or rather you have a problem and I have a problem and our problems have met each other. I don’t mean to assume.... but you don’t speak English do you? No? What is that? Cambodian? Laos? Either way, its a beautiful language. Loud, but beautiful. …..Well...I’ll do my best to convey our little problem. Now I know that you may still be busy poking your wife in the forehead with her newly purchased dryer sheets so I’ll try to be brief and to the point. Your daughter (and may I say she sure is a doll) seems to have pooped her pants.
Now I understand every culture is different and what is considered appropriate in different families encompasses an extremely wide spectrum. Just look at the way you’re taking all of your wife’s underwear and stretching it out as wide as it will go then pretending the stretched out fabric is walking as you’re making farting noises. Why if I did that to my wife she would do a lot more than sit there with her chin in her chest trying not to cry. But we’re traditional, middle class, white people - borrr-ing. Anyway back to your daughter and our problems converging. The issue is not with your daughter or the fact that she seems to have poopy pants, but rather the fact that she has wandered off, which brings me to my problem.
Let me introduce myself: My name is Phillip Bash Kopczynski - PBK - and as you can see from the high scores in this Laundromat Arcade - I’m kind of a big deal around here. And therein lies my problem. I own a washer and dryer - frontloaders actually. I’ve never used them because I have a lovely wife who stays home with my precious sons and she does all my laundry, but from what I understand they’re very nice. With all that going for me, I still come here 2-4 times a week to see how many headshots I can rack up on Target Terror: Gold Edition. Now it’s not always about the headshots - sometimes its about finding secrets, or improving accuracy, or seeing how far I can get on only three dollars, but at the same time it is kind of totally about seeing terrorist heads explode into a cartoon gore.
And that is my problem - I’m a 31 year-old man who has a weekly quarter budget, but I’m okay with my problem. Yet now I can smell your daughter behind me and I’m concerned this might not be the most appropriate game for her to--Oh excuse me for a moment I just got the gun that makes those terrorist bastards explode with their guts going everywhere. God Damn that is awesome--okay I’m sorry about that, now what was I saying? Oh yes, I can hear you on the other side of this arcade and last time I saw you, you were making farting sounds and pointing to your lips while dumping out all your crying wife’s belongings from her purse (what a rich and vibrant culture you come from, I must say). So maybe you already know about your daughter’s diaper. Maybe that's your way of telling your wife. I don't know.
But again, I don’t want to take away from the issue at hand which is not the fact that your lovely little princess is really ripe and the ventilation around these games is not all that great. The issue is that she seems to need some kind of help based on her screaming. I would help her, I know that I’m not her father yet I’m very qualified - trust me - it’s just that I’m not really able to look away since I’m right on the edge of getting a high score which I’ve been competing for with a gentlemen by the name of A-S-S for a few weeks now.
Now I understand every culture is different and what is considered appropriate in different families encompasses an extremely wide spectrum. Just look at the way you’re taking all of your wife’s underwear and stretching it out as wide as it will go then pretending the stretched out fabric is walking as you’re making farting noises. Why if I did that to my wife she would do a lot more than sit there with her chin in her chest trying not to cry. But we’re traditional, middle class, white people - borrr-ing. Anyway back to your daughter and our problems converging. The issue is not with your daughter or the fact that she seems to have poopy pants, but rather the fact that she has wandered off, which brings me to my problem.
Let me introduce myself: My name is Phillip Bash Kopczynski - PBK - and as you can see from the high scores in this Laundromat Arcade - I’m kind of a big deal around here. And therein lies my problem. I own a washer and dryer - frontloaders actually. I’ve never used them because I have a lovely wife who stays home with my precious sons and she does all my laundry, but from what I understand they’re very nice. With all that going for me, I still come here 2-4 times a week to see how many headshots I can rack up on Target Terror: Gold Edition. Now it’s not always about the headshots - sometimes its about finding secrets, or improving accuracy, or seeing how far I can get on only three dollars, but at the same time it is kind of totally about seeing terrorist heads explode into a cartoon gore.
And that is my problem - I’m a 31 year-old man who has a weekly quarter budget, but I’m okay with my problem. Yet now I can smell your daughter behind me and I’m concerned this might not be the most appropriate game for her to--Oh excuse me for a moment I just got the gun that makes those terrorist bastards explode with their guts going everywhere. God Damn that is awesome--okay I’m sorry about that, now what was I saying? Oh yes, I can hear you on the other side of this arcade and last time I saw you, you were making farting sounds and pointing to your lips while dumping out all your crying wife’s belongings from her purse (what a rich and vibrant culture you come from, I must say). So maybe you already know about your daughter’s diaper. Maybe that's your way of telling your wife. I don't know.
But again, I don’t want to take away from the issue at hand which is not the fact that your lovely little princess is really ripe and the ventilation around these games is not all that great. The issue is that she seems to need some kind of help based on her screaming. I would help her, I know that I’m not her father yet I’m very qualified - trust me - it’s just that I’m not really able to look away since I’m right on the edge of getting a high score which I’ve been competing for with a gentlemen by the name of A-S-S for a few weeks now.
I’m sure you can understand my dilemma, and there is no hurry to get her or anything. She’s completely fine to just stand or sit behind me and scream like she’s frightened or scared or hurt - I can’t really tell since I haven’t been able to look away for a while. So no rush - whenever your done dumping all of the powder laundry detergent all over your wife’s freshly folded clothes basket feel free to come get her.
This one is awesome!
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