You've always dreamed of creating your own video game, and basking in a big trough of profits and adulation.
Plus, who wouldn't want to rub shoulders with the great and the good of the indie development community?
Fortunately, today is your lucky day - for today is the day that you have decided to create a game that says everything there is to say about you, a game that speaks to people, that reflects your life, your struggles. A game so honest, so powerful, so unique, so truthful, that it could change the way the world views video games. In fact, calling it a video game won't do it justice; you're creating art.
Plus, who wouldn't want to rub shoulders with the great and the good of the indie development community?
Fortunately, today is your lucky day - for today is the day that you have decided to create a game that says everything there is to say about you, a game that speaks to people, that reflects your life, your struggles. A game so honest, so powerful, so unique, so truthful, that it could change the way the world views video games. In fact, calling it a video game won't do it justice; you're creating art.
You sit down at your computer to make a game, and realise that you don't have an idea for one.
You spend several hours straining to make a game come come out of you, but you've spent so much of your life playing video games that you're completely devoid of any inspiration.
Your only points of reference are other video games. If only you'd made the effort to cultivate relationships with normal people, or had children, or focused on your career, you might have something to offer.
Instead, all that issues forth from your shivering body is a involuntary standing ovation, four competing opinions about seeds, and what, you come to realise with mounting horror, might be some ghee.
And to think... you thought this would be easy!
In desperation, after staring at the screen for hours, you decide that perhaps you should try switching on the computer.
You spend several hours straining to make a game come come out of you, but you've spent so much of your life playing video games that you're completely devoid of any inspiration.
Your only points of reference are other video games. If only you'd made the effort to cultivate relationships with normal people, or had children, or focused on your career, you might have something to offer.
Instead, all that issues forth from your shivering body is a involuntary standing ovation, four competing opinions about seeds, and what, you come to realise with mounting horror, might be some ghee.
And to think... you thought this would be easy!
In desperation, after staring at the screen for hours, you decide that perhaps you should try switching on the computer.
Unfortunately, you switch on the computer, and without asking it automatically connects you to The Internet: a terrible place where the worst of humanity is allowed to flourish and run free, where the inhabitants do nothing but fling hatred and opinions at one another all day long, and revel in the misfortune of others.
You're never going to find inspiration from that sort of rubbish.
Upon realising the true nature of the Internet, you spend the next four years in a depressed stupor, after which you decide enough is enough.
You switch off the computer and decide to do what so many other creative people have done before you: go out and fuel your imagination with some actual real-life experiences.
You're never going to find inspiration from that sort of rubbish.
Upon realising the true nature of the Internet, you spend the next four years in a depressed stupor, after which you decide enough is enough.
You switch off the computer and decide to do what so many other creative people have done before you: go out and fuel your imagination with some actual real-life experiences.
Donning your best outside clothes - a regal cape, and a capuchon hat - you open the front door of your house.
You step out into what you assume must be the real world, but after four years locked in a cocoon of misery, a glowing sky-thing called The Sun turns out to be 12% more blinding than you expected.
How will you be able to even see your new experiences, if a big glow-orb is thrusting its rays into your eyes, like a solar simpleton with a light-pencil?
You step out into what you assume must be the real world, but after four years locked in a cocoon of misery, a glowing sky-thing called The Sun turns out to be 12% more blinding than you expected.
How will you be able to even see your new experiences, if a big glow-orb is thrusting its rays into your eyes, like a solar simpleton with a light-pencil?
You stumble around, squinting, and eventually bump into a pair of taut-bodied humans, whom - through feeling them from head to toe - you identify correctly as young adults.
"Hi," says the boy one. "I'm Alexander Graham Bell-End".
"Ya," says the girl one. "And I'm his lover Tipsy Foghorn. We wear sunglasses so that we can see what we are doing."
"Apropos nothing, I invented prank calls," explains Bell-End. "But I don't do those anymore, as somebody told me that they're against the law now, more's the pity, capish?
"I invented nothing, and contribute nothing to the world" reveals Tipsy, who appears to be tipsy.
"However, because we are young, our bodies have yet to reach a tipping point whereby our ability to enjoy real-life experiences has become hampered by joint pain and apathy.
"We spend most of our time getting drunk, and posting things on the Internet."
You consider their words, but years of bad living have aged you prematurely. You briefly regret all the terrible decisions you have made, and punch your calcified body for its rueful awfulness.
As you're walking away from the young adults, your phone rings. You answer it to hear a barely-disguised male voice on the other end.
"Er... hi," says the voice."Could I speak with Getfruitywivvadogg? First name Mevana."
"Okay," you reply, before calling out to anyone who would hear: "Hey, everyone! Mevana Getfruitywivvadogg! Anyone? Anyone at all? Mevana Getfruitywivvadogg!"
It's when you hear the sniggering over your shoulder that you realise you've been pranked by the master - no less than the inventor of prank phonecalls himself, Alexander Graham Bell-End.
You hear Bell-End and his lover running quickly towards the horizon, to get drunk and do cool and futile young people things before their allocated slice of relevance runs out.
"Hi," says the boy one. "I'm Alexander Graham Bell-End".
"Ya," says the girl one. "And I'm his lover Tipsy Foghorn. We wear sunglasses so that we can see what we are doing."
"Apropos nothing, I invented prank calls," explains Bell-End. "But I don't do those anymore, as somebody told me that they're against the law now, more's the pity, capish?
"I invented nothing, and contribute nothing to the world" reveals Tipsy, who appears to be tipsy.
"However, because we are young, our bodies have yet to reach a tipping point whereby our ability to enjoy real-life experiences has become hampered by joint pain and apathy.
"We spend most of our time getting drunk, and posting things on the Internet."
You consider their words, but years of bad living have aged you prematurely. You briefly regret all the terrible decisions you have made, and punch your calcified body for its rueful awfulness.
As you're walking away from the young adults, your phone rings. You answer it to hear a barely-disguised male voice on the other end.
"Er... hi," says the voice."Could I speak with Getfruitywivvadogg? First name Mevana."
"Okay," you reply, before calling out to anyone who would hear: "Hey, everyone! Mevana Getfruitywivvadogg! Anyone? Anyone at all? Mevana Getfruitywivvadogg!"
It's when you hear the sniggering over your shoulder that you realise you've been pranked by the master - no less than the inventor of prank phonecalls himself, Alexander Graham Bell-End.
You hear Bell-End and his lover running quickly towards the horizon, to get drunk and do cool and futile young people things before their allocated slice of relevance runs out.
You feel your way along the street, before you find yourself brushing up against the unmistakable shape of a sunglasses shop.
"Hurrah!" you snort, before striding confidently inside, where the air is cool, and the lighting dim enough to see the many things that are contained within (sunglasses, mainly).
"Hurrah!" you snort, before striding confidently inside, where the air is cool, and the lighting dim enough to see the many things that are contained within (sunglasses, mainly).
"Wagwan?" asks the cat behind the counter. "My name is Chris Apex, and I am the proprietor of this sunglasses shop."
"Okay," you reply. "I understand."
"So, how can I help you?"
"I'm trying to have some experiences that might inspire a video game I'm developing, but the sun is so bright that I can't even see what experiences I'm having."
"That is a big problem," coughs the cat. "But this is your lucky day."
"Okay," you reply. "I understand."
"So, how can I help you?"
"I'm trying to have some experiences that might inspire a video game I'm developing, but the sun is so bright that I can't even see what experiences I'm having."
"That is a big problem," coughs the cat. "But this is your lucky day."
"You see, I am a magic cat," hisses the cat, confidently. "That's how I'm able to speak and run a successful business."
"What was that?" you reply. "I wasn't listening."
Ignoring you, the cat struts over to a shimmering curtain.
"Step through this curtain and you will be magically transported to a world of amazing experiences that will inspire you to create the best game you are capable of."
"Okay," you say.
The cat stands on its hind legs, and pulls back the curtain, beckoning you forwards.
"What was that?" you reply. "I wasn't listening."
Ignoring you, the cat struts over to a shimmering curtain.
"Step through this curtain and you will be magically transported to a world of amazing experiences that will inspire you to create the best game you are capable of."
"Okay," you say.
The cat stands on its hind legs, and pulls back the curtain, beckoning you forwards.
You step through the curtain, ready for the sort of experiences that might inspire you to create an award-winning indie game... and find yourself in a dirty alleyway behind the sunglasses shop.
You hear a door slam behind you, and the sound of the cat laughing behind it.
"Ha ha ha," shouts Chris Apex. "You anomalous sap! Who's ever heard of a magic cat? I just wanted you out of my shop, which I have spontaneously decided to turn into a vegan cafe. Ha ha ha."
On the plus side, you note that the dirty alleyway is considerably less sunny than the rest of the real world, so at least you'll be able to see what you're doing from now on.
You hear a door slam behind you, and the sound of the cat laughing behind it.
"Ha ha ha," shouts Chris Apex. "You anomalous sap! Who's ever heard of a magic cat? I just wanted you out of my shop, which I have spontaneously decided to turn into a vegan cafe. Ha ha ha."
On the plus side, you note that the dirty alleyway is considerably less sunny than the rest of the real world, so at least you'll be able to see what you're doing from now on.
Dejected and still lacking in inspiration, you decide to try and have an experience in this alleyway.
You find a suitable pile of rubbish, and decide to roll around in it, to see if that sparks your imagination.
You find a suitable pile of rubbish, and decide to roll around in it, to see if that sparks your imagination.
You roll in the filth, back and forth, for several minutes, but it doesn't seem to help. As your rolling slows to an almost complete stop, you're confronted by an angry tramp.
"What are you doing in my filth?" he asks. "I was saving that for my dinner. That's the sort of thing that I eat, being a tramp. Now you've rolled all over it, and covered it in your germs!"
"What are you doing in my filth?" he asks. "I was saving that for my dinner. That's the sort of thing that I eat, being a tramp. Now you've rolled all over it, and covered it in your germs!"
The tramp chases you out of the alleyway, angrily waving his feet at you, and chanting a fearsome battle-cry: "Tramp-two-three-four! I'll kick your face and break your jaw! Tramp-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven-twelve-thirteen-fourteeen-fifteen-sixteen-seventeen-eighteen-ninteneen-twenty!"
Fortunately, the tramp is even more unfit than you are, and dies a long and agonising death.
You stay and watch as the final breaths leave his body, stomping your feet and shaking your fists above your head, while making a small croaking sound from the back of your throat.
Eventually you emerge from the alleyway, and you find yourself in the part of your town that is a strange fantasy land, populated by medieval knights, hideous goblins, and fire breathing dragons!
Fortunately, the tramp is even more unfit than you are, and dies a long and agonising death.
You stay and watch as the final breaths leave his body, stomping your feet and shaking your fists above your head, while making a small croaking sound from the back of your throat.
Eventually you emerge from the alleyway, and you find yourself in the part of your town that is a strange fantasy land, populated by medieval knights, hideous goblins, and fire breathing dragons!
"What brings you to our magical realm, traveller?" asks a whimsical nymph, as he springs forth from a shrub.
"Er... er..." you stammer. "Just looking for some experiences."
"If it is experiences you are after, then take this with the blessing of the Kingdom of Jalfrezi Ca-Ca-Phep!" he whoops, as he hands you a 50% off voucher from Go Ape! - the UK's No.1 tree-top forest adventure - then pirouettes and shits himself.
"And if they ask where you got it, tell them that it is a gift from Piltrude the Bush-sprite!"
And with that, Piltrude the Bush-Sprite pulls out his phone, orders an Uber, and waits patiently for it to collect him.
He says nothing further, just occasionally nodding over to you, and giving an awkward smile, and a lick of his ruby red lips with his aberrant brown tongue.
"Er... er..." you stammer. "Just looking for some experiences."
"If it is experiences you are after, then take this with the blessing of the Kingdom of Jalfrezi Ca-Ca-Phep!" he whoops, as he hands you a 50% off voucher from Go Ape! - the UK's No.1 tree-top forest adventure - then pirouettes and shits himself.
"And if they ask where you got it, tell them that it is a gift from Piltrude the Bush-sprite!"
And with that, Piltrude the Bush-Sprite pulls out his phone, orders an Uber, and waits patiently for it to collect him.
He says nothing further, just occasionally nodding over to you, and giving an awkward smile, and a lick of his ruby red lips with his aberrant brown tongue.
With hope in your heart that you are finally going to get some proper real world experience, and the voucher in hand, you head to your nearest Go Ape! centre.
Upon arrival, you hand the voucher over to the cashier, but are disappointed to be told that it expired in 2014. You silently curse Piltrude the Bush-Sprite, and remember what you once read about him in an issue of Grazia, in an article entitled 'Never Accept Go Ape! Vouchers From Piltrude The Bush-Sprite'.
Thoroughly dejected, you decide to head home, convinced that your game design dream is in tatters.
Upon arrival, you hand the voucher over to the cashier, but are disappointed to be told that it expired in 2014. You silently curse Piltrude the Bush-Sprite, and remember what you once read about him in an issue of Grazia, in an article entitled 'Never Accept Go Ape! Vouchers From Piltrude The Bush-Sprite'.
Thoroughly dejected, you decide to head home, convinced that your game design dream is in tatters.
You sit down in front of your computer, ready to input the command that will break it forever - 10 Commit Suicide/20 Goto 10 - when something strange happens.
You suddenly feel gripped by a sensation that you have never felt before... a sudden urge to create something. All those real world experiences worked! They fired up your creativity!
You begin tapping away at the keyboard, staying awake for forty days and forty nights, giving birth to the game of your dreams, an indie epic so spectacular and original that it feels like a culmination of your entire life. You couldn't be more proud.
As soon as you're finished, you submit the game to Steam, and sit back waiting for the riches and acclaim to come rolling in.
You suddenly feel gripped by a sensation that you have never felt before... a sudden urge to create something. All those real world experiences worked! They fired up your creativity!
You begin tapping away at the keyboard, staying awake for forty days and forty nights, giving birth to the game of your dreams, an indie epic so spectacular and original that it feels like a culmination of your entire life. You couldn't be more proud.
As soon as you're finished, you submit the game to Steam, and sit back waiting for the riches and acclaim to come rolling in.
Unfortunately, five minutes after submitting your game, a popular YouTube personality publishes a punishing, 17-minute critique of it, in which - among other things - he alleges that you stole the idea for your game off of someone else, and that you deserve all the people of the Internet to make your life as miserable as possible for as long as possible, and that your game is evidence of a fractured and diseased mind.
You go online to take take issue with his critique, but find that you have already had your home address posted to a popular Internet forum, along with several candid photographs of you urinating into a birdbath.
With great regret, but a great deal of entitled zeal, you decide that the only way to prove he is wrong is to spend the remainder of your natural life arguing with people about it online.
Over time, the strength of your conviction is so powerful that you gather others to your cause - those drawn in by something you might've said, in which they can see a faint reflection of themselves. Those looking for a place to belong, a place where they can be surrounded by those who tell them they are right, a sense of community where they can feel validated and safe.
And then one day you realise that you can't even remember what it was that started your campaign, and neither can anyone else.
All that you now know is that you're all still really angry, and you're not going to take it anymore, whatever it originally was. Never back down. Never give in. No surrender.
You go online to take take issue with his critique, but find that you have already had your home address posted to a popular Internet forum, along with several candid photographs of you urinating into a birdbath.
With great regret, but a great deal of entitled zeal, you decide that the only way to prove he is wrong is to spend the remainder of your natural life arguing with people about it online.
Over time, the strength of your conviction is so powerful that you gather others to your cause - those drawn in by something you might've said, in which they can see a faint reflection of themselves. Those looking for a place to belong, a place where they can be surrounded by those who tell them they are right, a sense of community where they can feel validated and safe.
And then one day you realise that you can't even remember what it was that started your campaign, and neither can anyone else.
All that you now know is that you're all still really angry, and you're not going to take it anymore, whatever it originally was. Never back down. Never give in. No surrender.
On a typical afternoon, many years later... you find yourself typing out a patronising, sanctimonious, passive-aggressive, reply to someone on Twitter - which isn't quite overt enough to be clear, but which nevertheless makes you feel good about yourself, while leaving the recipient questioning exactly what you meant - when your foot nudges against something.
You lean beneath your desk, where you find the Go Ape! voucher, from so long before... now yellowed and faded, curling at the corners.
You take it in your fingers, as the faint flickers of a memory ignite in your mind. Though even more expired than it was when you received it, it touches something inside you. You decide that maybe you should pay a visit to this Go Ape! place, and see if it can help you recall what this fight was about.
Fortunately, your day at Go Ape! is everything you hoped it would be. You run and caper in the treetops, feeling the wind in your face, pausing from time to time to listen to the gentle creak of the trees, and the intermittent buzz of passing insects.
You've rarely felt so alive.
Unfortunately, due to the negligence of a safety instructor called Jones the Idiot, you later slip from a high platform, and break your neck. You are taken to hospital, where you are pronounced dead upon arrival.
But at least, you were able to tell yourself, before the last embers of life slipped away from your shattered body, you died knowing how it felt to have something real happen to you.
And also what it's like to do a big ol' piss in your pants.
You lean beneath your desk, where you find the Go Ape! voucher, from so long before... now yellowed and faded, curling at the corners.
You take it in your fingers, as the faint flickers of a memory ignite in your mind. Though even more expired than it was when you received it, it touches something inside you. You decide that maybe you should pay a visit to this Go Ape! place, and see if it can help you recall what this fight was about.
Fortunately, your day at Go Ape! is everything you hoped it would be. You run and caper in the treetops, feeling the wind in your face, pausing from time to time to listen to the gentle creak of the trees, and the intermittent buzz of passing insects.
You've rarely felt so alive.
Unfortunately, due to the negligence of a safety instructor called Jones the Idiot, you later slip from a high platform, and break your neck. You are taken to hospital, where you are pronounced dead upon arrival.
But at least, you were able to tell yourself, before the last embers of life slipped away from your shattered body, you died knowing how it felt to have something real happen to you.
And also what it's like to do a big ol' piss in your pants.
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