On The Varities of the Experience of Videogaming Humor

Sun, 09/05/2004 — Sak

The halcyon days of my youth -- I look back on them fondly. The summers spent fishing down by Baxter's Pond, the winter's time would best be put to use by cuddling up with a consort near the fireplace and reminiscing of foregone days. They were all unique, yet shared a common bond -- atop my dresser sat my Nintendo Entertainment System. O, siren! Let your magnetic sonority pervade my inner ear, and turn your the mathematics of vibration into the transcendental experience of the aesthetic! For rich is your tune, in a myriad of subsumptions! Lend me your voice, O, muse, and speak of the humor of the videogaming experience, that which makes Hermes laugh, that which enforces its queer ways upon poor Orpheus, loneliest of all souls!

'Twas in my fifteenth year, when Julius Laframboise (a slender chap, aproximately a year my elder -- obviously of French origin!) would traverse the road to Chateaubriand Ave. and up the stairs leading to my house for his daily sojourns, which could last from a scant three winks of the eye to the more prolonged tarry. We would speak as men of our age did: the nigh-inauthentic yet ever-so pleasing to the ears jargon of juvenescence would oft times elicit a negative response from my parental units! The cries of "Shut the fuck up, I'm trying to pay these goddamn bills! Do you want to live in the streets? Because that's fine, that's fine! I don't care if you want to live in the streets. So keep it up, buster. Keep it up," would silence us for the moment, but nary a second longer!

The pablum and monotony of an ever-pervasive conversation would eventually grow tiring, and I increasingly lost interest in Laframboise's once-mirthful visits. I would soon find that the pablum and monotony would no longer be ever-pervasive, however! Laframboise's japes had become stale and old-hat as of late, and I pondered if he could ever reclaim that youthful sense of vivacious humor that had once been an essential property of his joyous character. As the Nintendo Entertainment System went through the process of playing the video cartridge Super Mario Bros. 3, Julius exclaimed, "Dude! You know what is so fucked up about Mario Bros. 3? It is like the guys who created this game were on drugs! You go to a 'magic kingdom' and eat 'magic mushrooms' and Mario then gets big! And then you fight evil mushrooms and psychedelic shit like that!"

I stared in atonal amazement at Laframboise, and then slowly, from deep inside of my viscera arose a cachinnate so uproarous that the gods themselves surely must have heard my call! O, Zeus! Why doth thou strike me down so? After the laughs subsided, Laframboise repeatedly tried to reinduce the hysteria that had just so recently afflicted me, with anecdotes such as, "Hey! What is up with that raccoon tail? It's so stupid!" and "I wonder if Princess Toadstool gives good blowjobs!" While they produced a mild anaesthetic of laughter, the moment of truth had passed, and Laframboise was left with little else. The event was bittersweet.

I saw little of Julius after that day, until finally he simply became another face in the crowd. But I will always have that moment, buried deep within the recesses of my soul. In my own mind, Laframboise still lives as that mere child with a nigh-ineffable sense of humor.


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