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Whilst thinking about things I hate (waiting for buses, arguing with stupid people) one thing stood out - being in a tight space, with someone walking towards you, resulting in both of you doing a funny dance of left and right steps before the more intelligent of you steps aside and tells the other to go on. Why do we put up with it? Simple. Because we're idiots. You know who doesn't put up with it? Game characters!
Think about it, a game character has a problem, they do something about it! They have powers, they can do cool stuff, they don't have to worry about real life problems. What if we could do the same? What if we could do what they do?
Walking down the corridor at college, some fit bird going the opposite direction, heading straight for me. To try and look cool, I try to move out of the way and let her past, but out of pity for me, she does the same. Problem. So what do I do? I jump over her, ala Mario, and in one single leap, I'm over her and half way down the corridor, making a cool beeping noise as I go! The girl sees how cool I am, I get to keep my composure, I don't have to do a silly little dance, and unless it's a low ceiling, I have a safe landing and carry on aimlessly walking around college, pretending to be going somewhere, instead of actually working.
I'm back at primary school, it's gymnastics. Save for one or two Olympic wannabes, most of the class can barely perform a forward roll, let alone climb... stuff. No, this isn't the playground, where you're climbing for fun, surrounded by your simple-minded buddies. This is a big, freezing cold hall, with no socks and only a small vest and yer kegs to keep your manhood hidden. Not that I had much manhood at that age anyway. The pressure to perform is on, and like some beginner porn star, I get nervous. In steps my Lara Croft power. I'm somersaulting, backflipping, climbing the walls and doing stuff I've never even heard of. Teacher notices, I end up in the 1996 Olympics, get the gold and live the rest of my life fraternising with Page 3 girls and getting drunk on expensive whiskey. Thank you very much.
I'm on my way somewhere, and since I'm an unemployed scrounger (aka student) I'm taking the bus. It's already half an hour late, and people getting on the other buses are starting to point and laugh as they pull away. What do I do? I become a member of the Grand Theft Auto team. I stroll onto the busy road, flipping the bird to any drivers who have the audacity to honk their horns at me, stop in front of a car to block its path, drag the previous owner out (giving him a few kicks while he's down for good measure) hop in, and drive off. Any nearby police cars are bribed, and I get to keep the snazzy sports car. Car is noticed by a fit bird, she hops in. My day gets a whole lot better.
Highschool - interform. Praised by the athletes, dreaded by the weaklings. Only 11 lads in my form, so I'm forced to play in every single match. My four year old football boots are two sizes too small, I'm covered in mud, my teeth are chattering, I have two left feet and can't tackle, dribble, shoot or pass. So I'm relegated to defence, the lowest of the low. Everytime the ball comes near me, I run away, preferring the shouts of my angry team mates to the humiliation of not being able to get the ball. Woah, suddenly, the power of an enhanced Alan Shearer from Fifa 2003 hits me. I tackle one of my own team mates to get the ball, duck and dive between their midfield, run circles around their defence, then send a sizzler into their net. I do a triple backflip for my celebration, and am now the hero of my class. Boo ya.
I'm walking down a dark alley, some radgies approach and demand my cash. They're bigger than me, there's more of them, they have knives and, despite having the shared IQ of Britney Spears, can actually cause bodily harm. So they get my wallet. I don't know what comes over me, but I feel the sudden urge to reach into my coat. A beretta rests in my hand, I look up, and see the radgies moving in slow motion. I feel the need to dive at them, blasting away with my newly acquired gun. Two go down in a blaze of hot lead, spurting blood and confused cries. I hit the ground, reach into my coat again, and produce a shotgun which could only have realistically fit in there if I was that huge bloke from Jerry Springer who had to have his wall taken down so they could get him out. I blast the last remaining punk just as time returns to normal. He rockets down the alley, then lands in a heap on the floor. I pick up my wallet, and carry on down the dark alley. Max Payne rules!
I'm going on holiday with my mates, and we're waiting at the airport. Uh oh, international terrorists have occupied the building. Not to worry, I can just buy a load of guns for my friends and I, then go storming around the place, blowing holes in walls and shooting people. We rescue a few hostages, kill a few badguys, get paid for it all, then go on holiday and pole some fit birds. When we return, we're recruited by the SAS, then we sell our stories and spend the rest of our years writing books about how great we are. Marvellous. Who'd have thought playing Counter Strike would come in handy?
Sports day. I've been "nominated" to do the 100m. By nominated, I mean somebody signed my name for me. I scan the other racers. All top athletes, all the fastest runners in their class. I don't stand a chance. I wonder if I can sneak off before the race starts, and consider what would happen if I just stood still after the whistle went, save for the heckling of the onlookers. Hmm, my feet feel a little strange. The whistle goes. I open my eyes, but can't see the other racers ahead of me. Why? Because they're behind me. I look down to see my feet are a blur, and I'm setting the grass on fire. Hmm, might get the rest of the week off if the school burns down... I get to the end, turn around and see everybody else is only half way down. I run the entire length of the track, lapping them all, and stop again. They're still not finished. Finally, they arrive and I'm given a handshake. What, no medal? I try to steal everybody's gold rings, then run off to find somebody with two tails to follow me.
Walking past hippy green, bunch of "sk8er bois" are "chillin'" They see my un-baggy clothes and decide to insult me before challenging me to a skateboard contest. I can't even stand up on the things when they're still, let along actually skate, but my machismo once again gets the better of me, and I accept. Ah yes, I can't skate... this could be a problem. But wait, suddenly I have Tony Hawk's ability, and I'm popping ollies, double impossibles, flips, switches and whatever other weird terminology they use for tricks. I can even talk the talk. Of course, that means normal people can no longer understand me, but as long as I'm with my skater posse, listening to Goldfinger and Blink 182, I'm happy. Some bloke from Activision happens to be watching, and asks me to give my name to their extreme sports games, since Tony Hawk isn't doing a very good job of trying to convince them he can still skate in his wheelchair (he's knocking on a bit) I get rich, and have an endless supply of groupies. Oh yes.
So there you have it. I can eat mushrooms and not go on bad trips (instead, I just double in size and jump on turtles) score the winning goal in the World Cup, steal cars, beat up old ladies, use the force to tear off bikinis at the beach, stay healthy by picking up first aid kits, steal stuff without anyone even getting up to complain, put random items together to solve mysteries, drive around at 90mph, go off a cliff and simply teleport to a hospital without a scratch on me, walk around with a bald nut with "47" tattooed on my head without people laughing, wear funky clothes whilst cruising on a skateboard, before falling off, only to have it reappear at my feet, build stuff by dragging invisible boxes in empty buildings, eat white dots, then a piece of fruit that lets me eat ghosts, perv on people when they shower, then take away the door so they're stuck in the bathroom, with only their stained carpet for company and hop into an X-Wing to take out the Death Star. If you ask me, game characters have it pretty sweet.
Hopefully, one day, technology will let us do these things in real life... resulting in us becoming rich, pulling fit birds and generally making a nuisance of ourselves. Can't wait.
Think about it, a game character has a problem, they do something about it! They have powers, they can do cool stuff, they don't have to worry about real life problems. What if we could do the same? What if we could do what they do?
Walking down the corridor at college, some fit bird going the opposite direction, heading straight for me. To try and look cool, I try to move out of the way and let her past, but out of pity for me, she does the same. Problem. So what do I do? I jump over her, ala Mario, and in one single leap, I'm over her and half way down the corridor, making a cool beeping noise as I go! The girl sees how cool I am, I get to keep my composure, I don't have to do a silly little dance, and unless it's a low ceiling, I have a safe landing and carry on aimlessly walking around college, pretending to be going somewhere, instead of actually working.
I'm back at primary school, it's gymnastics. Save for one or two Olympic wannabes, most of the class can barely perform a forward roll, let alone climb... stuff. No, this isn't the playground, where you're climbing for fun, surrounded by your simple-minded buddies. This is a big, freezing cold hall, with no socks and only a small vest and yer kegs to keep your manhood hidden. Not that I had much manhood at that age anyway. The pressure to perform is on, and like some beginner porn star, I get nervous. In steps my Lara Croft power. I'm somersaulting, backflipping, climbing the walls and doing stuff I've never even heard of. Teacher notices, I end up in the 1996 Olympics, get the gold and live the rest of my life fraternising with Page 3 girls and getting drunk on expensive whiskey. Thank you very much.
I'm on my way somewhere, and since I'm an unemployed scrounger (aka student) I'm taking the bus. It's already half an hour late, and people getting on the other buses are starting to point and laugh as they pull away. What do I do? I become a member of the Grand Theft Auto team. I stroll onto the busy road, flipping the bird to any drivers who have the audacity to honk their horns at me, stop in front of a car to block its path, drag the previous owner out (giving him a few kicks while he's down for good measure) hop in, and drive off. Any nearby police cars are bribed, and I get to keep the snazzy sports car. Car is noticed by a fit bird, she hops in. My day gets a whole lot better.
Highschool - interform. Praised by the athletes, dreaded by the weaklings. Only 11 lads in my form, so I'm forced to play in every single match. My four year old football boots are two sizes too small, I'm covered in mud, my teeth are chattering, I have two left feet and can't tackle, dribble, shoot or pass. So I'm relegated to defence, the lowest of the low. Everytime the ball comes near me, I run away, preferring the shouts of my angry team mates to the humiliation of not being able to get the ball. Woah, suddenly, the power of an enhanced Alan Shearer from Fifa 2003 hits me. I tackle one of my own team mates to get the ball, duck and dive between their midfield, run circles around their defence, then send a sizzler into their net. I do a triple backflip for my celebration, and am now the hero of my class. Boo ya.
I'm walking down a dark alley, some radgies approach and demand my cash. They're bigger than me, there's more of them, they have knives and, despite having the shared IQ of Britney Spears, can actually cause bodily harm. So they get my wallet. I don't know what comes over me, but I feel the sudden urge to reach into my coat. A beretta rests in my hand, I look up, and see the radgies moving in slow motion. I feel the need to dive at them, blasting away with my newly acquired gun. Two go down in a blaze of hot lead, spurting blood and confused cries. I hit the ground, reach into my coat again, and produce a shotgun which could only have realistically fit in there if I was that huge bloke from Jerry Springer who had to have his wall taken down so they could get him out. I blast the last remaining punk just as time returns to normal. He rockets down the alley, then lands in a heap on the floor. I pick up my wallet, and carry on down the dark alley. Max Payne rules!
I'm going on holiday with my mates, and we're waiting at the airport. Uh oh, international terrorists have occupied the building. Not to worry, I can just buy a load of guns for my friends and I, then go storming around the place, blowing holes in walls and shooting people. We rescue a few hostages, kill a few badguys, get paid for it all, then go on holiday and pole some fit birds. When we return, we're recruited by the SAS, then we sell our stories and spend the rest of our years writing books about how great we are. Marvellous. Who'd have thought playing Counter Strike would come in handy?
Sports day. I've been "nominated" to do the 100m. By nominated, I mean somebody signed my name for me. I scan the other racers. All top athletes, all the fastest runners in their class. I don't stand a chance. I wonder if I can sneak off before the race starts, and consider what would happen if I just stood still after the whistle went, save for the heckling of the onlookers. Hmm, my feet feel a little strange. The whistle goes. I open my eyes, but can't see the other racers ahead of me. Why? Because they're behind me. I look down to see my feet are a blur, and I'm setting the grass on fire. Hmm, might get the rest of the week off if the school burns down... I get to the end, turn around and see everybody else is only half way down. I run the entire length of the track, lapping them all, and stop again. They're still not finished. Finally, they arrive and I'm given a handshake. What, no medal? I try to steal everybody's gold rings, then run off to find somebody with two tails to follow me.
Walking past hippy green, bunch of "sk8er bois" are "chillin'" They see my un-baggy clothes and decide to insult me before challenging me to a skateboard contest. I can't even stand up on the things when they're still, let along actually skate, but my machismo once again gets the better of me, and I accept. Ah yes, I can't skate... this could be a problem. But wait, suddenly I have Tony Hawk's ability, and I'm popping ollies, double impossibles, flips, switches and whatever other weird terminology they use for tricks. I can even talk the talk. Of course, that means normal people can no longer understand me, but as long as I'm with my skater posse, listening to Goldfinger and Blink 182, I'm happy. Some bloke from Activision happens to be watching, and asks me to give my name to their extreme sports games, since Tony Hawk isn't doing a very good job of trying to convince them he can still skate in his wheelchair (he's knocking on a bit) I get rich, and have an endless supply of groupies. Oh yes.
So there you have it. I can eat mushrooms and not go on bad trips (instead, I just double in size and jump on turtles) score the winning goal in the World Cup, steal cars, beat up old ladies, use the force to tear off bikinis at the beach, stay healthy by picking up first aid kits, steal stuff without anyone even getting up to complain, put random items together to solve mysteries, drive around at 90mph, go off a cliff and simply teleport to a hospital without a scratch on me, walk around with a bald nut with "47" tattooed on my head without people laughing, wear funky clothes whilst cruising on a skateboard, before falling off, only to have it reappear at my feet, build stuff by dragging invisible boxes in empty buildings, eat white dots, then a piece of fruit that lets me eat ghosts, perv on people when they shower, then take away the door so they're stuck in the bathroom, with only their stained carpet for company and hop into an X-Wing to take out the Death Star. If you ask me, game characters have it pretty sweet.
Hopefully, one day, technology will let us do these things in real life... resulting in us becoming rich, pulling fit birds and generally making a nuisance of ourselves. Can't wait.
I have powers
shiny shiny powers
spoon powers
powers from the Happy Happyist Cult
mind powers
speech powers
oh yes
tremble in my presence
shiny shiny powers
spoon powers
powers from the Happy Happyist Cult
mind powers
speech powers
oh yes
tremble in my presence
Pop? Yes, I think it needs one...
Whilst thinking about things I hate (waiting for buses, arguing with stupid people) one thing stood out - being in a tight space, with someone walking towards you, resulting in both of you doing a funny dance of left and right steps before the more intelligent of you steps aside and tells the other to go on. Why do we put up with it? Simple. Because we're idiots. You know who doesn't put up with it? Game characters!
Think about it, a game character has a problem, they do something about it! They have powers, they can do cool stuff, they don't have to worry about real life problems. What if we could do the same? What if we could do what they do?
Walking down the corridor at college, some fit bird going the opposite direction, heading straight for me. To try and look cool, I try to move out of the way and let her past, but out of pity for me, she does the same. Problem. So what do I do? I jump over her, ala Mario, and in one single leap, I'm over her and half way down the corridor, making a cool beeping noise as I go! The girl sees how cool I am, I get to keep my composure, I don't have to do a silly little dance, and unless it's a low ceiling, I have a safe landing and carry on aimlessly walking around college, pretending to be going somewhere, instead of actually working.
I'm back at primary school, it's gymnastics. Save for one or two Olympic wannabes, most of the class can barely perform a forward roll, let alone climb... stuff. No, this isn't the playground, where you're climbing for fun, surrounded by your simple-minded buddies. This is a big, freezing cold hall, with no socks and only a small vest and yer kegs to keep your manhood hidden. Not that I had much manhood at that age anyway. The pressure to perform is on, and like some beginner porn star, I get nervous. In steps my Lara Croft power. I'm somersaulting, backflipping, climbing the walls and doing stuff I've never even heard of. Teacher notices, I end up in the 1996 Olympics, get the gold and live the rest of my life fraternising with Page 3 girls and getting drunk on expensive whiskey. Thank you very much.
I'm on my way somewhere, and since I'm an unemployed scrounger (aka student) I'm taking the bus. It's already half an hour late, and people getting on the other buses are starting to point and laugh as they pull away. What do I do? I become a member of the Grand Theft Auto team. I stroll onto the busy road, flipping the bird to any drivers who have the audacity to honk their horns at me, stop in front of a car to block its path, drag the previous owner out (giving him a few kicks while he's down for good measure) hop in, and drive off. Any nearby police cars are bribed, and I get to keep the snazzy sports car. Car is noticed by a fit bird, she hops in. My day gets a whole lot better.
Highschool - interform. Praised by the athletes, dreaded by the weaklings. Only 11 lads in my form, so I'm forced to play in every single match. My four year old football boots are two sizes too small, I'm covered in mud, my teeth are chattering, I have two left feet and can't tackle, dribble, shoot or pass. So I'm relegated to defence, the lowest of the low. Everytime the ball comes near me, I run away, preferring the shouts of my angry team mates to the humiliation of not being able to get the ball. Woah, suddenly, the power of an enhanced Alan Shearer from Fifa 2003 hits me. I tackle one of my own team mates to get the ball, duck and dive between their midfield, run circles around their defence, then send a sizzler into their net. I do a triple backflip for my celebration, and am now the hero of my class. Boo ya.
I'm walking down a dark alley, some radgies approach and demand my cash. They're bigger than me, there's more of them, they have knives and, despite having the shared IQ of Britney Spears, can actually cause bodily harm. So they get my wallet. I don't know what comes over me, but I feel the sudden urge to reach into my coat. A beretta rests in my hand, I look up, and see the radgies moving in slow motion. I feel the need to dive at them, blasting away with my newly acquired gun. Two go down in a blaze of hot lead, spurting blood and confused cries. I hit the ground, reach into my coat again, and produce a shotgun which could only have realistically fit in there if I was that huge bloke from Jerry Springer who had to have his wall taken down so they could get him out. I blast the last remaining punk just as time returns to normal. He rockets down the alley, then lands in a heap on the floor. I pick up my wallet, and carry on down the dark alley. Max Payne rules!
I'm going on holiday with my mates, and we're waiting at the airport. Uh oh, international terrorists have occupied the building. Not to worry, I can just buy a load of guns for my friends and I, then go storming around the place, blowing holes in walls and shooting people. We rescue a few hostages, kill a few badguys, get paid for it all, then go on holiday and pole some fit birds. When we return, we're recruited by the SAS, then we sell our stories and spend the rest of our years writing books about how great we are. Marvellous. Who'd have thought playing Counter Strike would come in handy?
Sports day. I've been "nominated" to do the 100m. By nominated, I mean somebody signed my name for me. I scan the other racers. All top athletes, all the fastest runners in their class. I don't stand a chance. I wonder if I can sneak off before the race starts, and consider what would happen if I just stood still after the whistle went, save for the heckling of the onlookers. Hmm, my feet feel a little strange. The whistle goes. I open my eyes, but can't see the other racers ahead of me. Why? Because they're behind me. I look down to see my feet are a blur, and I'm setting the grass on fire. Hmm, might get the rest of the week off if the school burns down... I get to the end, turn around and see everybody else is only half way down. I run the entire length of the track, lapping them all, and stop again. They're still not finished. Finally, they arrive and I'm given a handshake. What, no medal? I try to steal everybody's gold rings, then run off to find somebody with two tails to follow me.
Walking past hippy green, bunch of "sk8er bois" are "chillin'" They see my un-baggy clothes and decide to insult me before challenging me to a skateboard contest. I can't even stand up on the things when they're still, let along actually skate, but my machismo once again gets the better of me, and I accept. Ah yes, I can't skate... this could be a problem. But wait, suddenly I have Tony Hawk's ability, and I'm popping ollies, double impossibles, flips, switches and whatever other weird terminology they use for tricks. I can even talk the talk. Of course, that means normal people can no longer understand me, but as long as I'm with my skater posse, listening to Goldfinger and Blink 182, I'm happy. Some bloke from Activision happens to be watching, and asks me to give my name to their extreme sports games, since Tony Hawk isn't doing a very good job of trying to convince them he can still skate in his wheelchair (he's knocking on a bit) I get rich, and have an endless supply of groupies. Oh yes.
So there you have it. I can eat mushrooms and not go on bad trips (instead, I just double in size and jump on turtles) score the winning goal in the World Cup, steal cars, beat up old ladies, use the force to tear off bikinis at the beach, stay healthy by picking up first aid kits, steal stuff without anyone even getting up to complain, put random items together to solve mysteries, drive around at 90mph, go off a cliff and simply teleport to a hospital without a scratch on me, walk around with a bald nut with "47" tattooed on my head without people laughing, wear funky clothes whilst cruising on a skateboard, before falling off, only to have it reappear at my feet, build stuff by dragging invisible boxes in empty buildings, eat white dots, then a piece of fruit that lets me eat ghosts, perv on people when they shower, then take away the door so they're stuck in the bathroom, with only their stained carpet for company and hop into an X-Wing to take out the Death Star. If you ask me, game characters have it pretty sweet.
Hopefully, one day, technology will let us do these things in real life... resulting in us becoming rich, pulling fit birds and generally making a nuisance of ourselves. Can't wait.
Think about it, a game character has a problem, they do something about it! They have powers, they can do cool stuff, they don't have to worry about real life problems. What if we could do the same? What if we could do what they do?
Walking down the corridor at college, some fit bird going the opposite direction, heading straight for me. To try and look cool, I try to move out of the way and let her past, but out of pity for me, she does the same. Problem. So what do I do? I jump over her, ala Mario, and in one single leap, I'm over her and half way down the corridor, making a cool beeping noise as I go! The girl sees how cool I am, I get to keep my composure, I don't have to do a silly little dance, and unless it's a low ceiling, I have a safe landing and carry on aimlessly walking around college, pretending to be going somewhere, instead of actually working.
I'm back at primary school, it's gymnastics. Save for one or two Olympic wannabes, most of the class can barely perform a forward roll, let alone climb... stuff. No, this isn't the playground, where you're climbing for fun, surrounded by your simple-minded buddies. This is a big, freezing cold hall, with no socks and only a small vest and yer kegs to keep your manhood hidden. Not that I had much manhood at that age anyway. The pressure to perform is on, and like some beginner porn star, I get nervous. In steps my Lara Croft power. I'm somersaulting, backflipping, climbing the walls and doing stuff I've never even heard of. Teacher notices, I end up in the 1996 Olympics, get the gold and live the rest of my life fraternising with Page 3 girls and getting drunk on expensive whiskey. Thank you very much.
I'm on my way somewhere, and since I'm an unemployed scrounger (aka student) I'm taking the bus. It's already half an hour late, and people getting on the other buses are starting to point and laugh as they pull away. What do I do? I become a member of the Grand Theft Auto team. I stroll onto the busy road, flipping the bird to any drivers who have the audacity to honk their horns at me, stop in front of a car to block its path, drag the previous owner out (giving him a few kicks while he's down for good measure) hop in, and drive off. Any nearby police cars are bribed, and I get to keep the snazzy sports car. Car is noticed by a fit bird, she hops in. My day gets a whole lot better.
Highschool - interform. Praised by the athletes, dreaded by the weaklings. Only 11 lads in my form, so I'm forced to play in every single match. My four year old football boots are two sizes too small, I'm covered in mud, my teeth are chattering, I have two left feet and can't tackle, dribble, shoot or pass. So I'm relegated to defence, the lowest of the low. Everytime the ball comes near me, I run away, preferring the shouts of my angry team mates to the humiliation of not being able to get the ball. Woah, suddenly, the power of an enhanced Alan Shearer from Fifa 2003 hits me. I tackle one of my own team mates to get the ball, duck and dive between their midfield, run circles around their defence, then send a sizzler into their net. I do a triple backflip for my celebration, and am now the hero of my class. Boo ya.
I'm walking down a dark alley, some radgies approach and demand my cash. They're bigger than me, there's more of them, they have knives and, despite having the shared IQ of Britney Spears, can actually cause bodily harm. So they get my wallet. I don't know what comes over me, but I feel the sudden urge to reach into my coat. A beretta rests in my hand, I look up, and see the radgies moving in slow motion. I feel the need to dive at them, blasting away with my newly acquired gun. Two go down in a blaze of hot lead, spurting blood and confused cries. I hit the ground, reach into my coat again, and produce a shotgun which could only have realistically fit in there if I was that huge bloke from Jerry Springer who had to have his wall taken down so they could get him out. I blast the last remaining punk just as time returns to normal. He rockets down the alley, then lands in a heap on the floor. I pick up my wallet, and carry on down the dark alley. Max Payne rules!
I'm going on holiday with my mates, and we're waiting at the airport. Uh oh, international terrorists have occupied the building. Not to worry, I can just buy a load of guns for my friends and I, then go storming around the place, blowing holes in walls and shooting people. We rescue a few hostages, kill a few badguys, get paid for it all, then go on holiday and pole some fit birds. When we return, we're recruited by the SAS, then we sell our stories and spend the rest of our years writing books about how great we are. Marvellous. Who'd have thought playing Counter Strike would come in handy?
Sports day. I've been "nominated" to do the 100m. By nominated, I mean somebody signed my name for me. I scan the other racers. All top athletes, all the fastest runners in their class. I don't stand a chance. I wonder if I can sneak off before the race starts, and consider what would happen if I just stood still after the whistle went, save for the heckling of the onlookers. Hmm, my feet feel a little strange. The whistle goes. I open my eyes, but can't see the other racers ahead of me. Why? Because they're behind me. I look down to see my feet are a blur, and I'm setting the grass on fire. Hmm, might get the rest of the week off if the school burns down... I get to the end, turn around and see everybody else is only half way down. I run the entire length of the track, lapping them all, and stop again. They're still not finished. Finally, they arrive and I'm given a handshake. What, no medal? I try to steal everybody's gold rings, then run off to find somebody with two tails to follow me.
Walking past hippy green, bunch of "sk8er bois" are "chillin'" They see my un-baggy clothes and decide to insult me before challenging me to a skateboard contest. I can't even stand up on the things when they're still, let along actually skate, but my machismo once again gets the better of me, and I accept. Ah yes, I can't skate... this could be a problem. But wait, suddenly I have Tony Hawk's ability, and I'm popping ollies, double impossibles, flips, switches and whatever other weird terminology they use for tricks. I can even talk the talk. Of course, that means normal people can no longer understand me, but as long as I'm with my skater posse, listening to Goldfinger and Blink 182, I'm happy. Some bloke from Activision happens to be watching, and asks me to give my name to their extreme sports games, since Tony Hawk isn't doing a very good job of trying to convince them he can still skate in his wheelchair (he's knocking on a bit) I get rich, and have an endless supply of groupies. Oh yes.
So there you have it. I can eat mushrooms and not go on bad trips (instead, I just double in size and jump on turtles) score the winning goal in the World Cup, steal cars, beat up old ladies, use the force to tear off bikinis at the beach, stay healthy by picking up first aid kits, steal stuff without anyone even getting up to complain, put random items together to solve mysteries, drive around at 90mph, go off a cliff and simply teleport to a hospital without a scratch on me, walk around with a bald nut with "47" tattooed on my head without people laughing, wear funky clothes whilst cruising on a skateboard, before falling off, only to have it reappear at my feet, build stuff by dragging invisible boxes in empty buildings, eat white dots, then a piece of fruit that lets me eat ghosts, perv on people when they shower, then take away the door so they're stuck in the bathroom, with only their stained carpet for company and hop into an X-Wing to take out the Death Star. If you ask me, game characters have it pretty sweet.
Hopefully, one day, technology will let us do these things in real life... resulting in us becoming rich, pulling fit birds and generally making a nuisance of ourselves. Can't wait.