“Die, Pikachu! Die!” I hear Graham yelling from the basement, and I go to investigate.
I see my two seven-year-olds jumping up and down, flailing like teenage punks at a Circle Jerks show in the 80s.
“I thought you liked Pikachu,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“We do,” Evan fires back through quick loud breaths. “It’s a game. They want to die. DIE PIKACHU!”
He turns his attention back to the screen, swinging his Wiimote like a serial killer might swing his machete.
What could turn two die-hard Pokephiles to Pikacide?
Super Smash Bros Brawl, released this past weekend for Wii.
Graham has been counting down to the Super Smash Bros Brawl release for several months, ever since he pre-ordered the game, trading for Dragon Quest Swords, a title he wanted so much that he offered to exchange his services mopping the kitchen every week until he went to college for my purchase on his behalf. We have a tiny galley kitchen, so it’s not that much really.
I was saved from taking Graham to the store at Midnight Saturday for a release bash by a surprising late-season snowfall of 12 inches. It shut Louisivlle down for two days and allowed me to put off pressing and unpleasant outdoor chores for another week.
We picked the game up at noon Sunday (opening time), and other than an hour of reading they do each day, meals, one racquetball class, a school day, and chores, my children have done nothing except play Super Smash Bros.
Well, for about 20 minutes their mother and I played Cooking Mama while they sat with frowns, arms crossed, and brows furrowed on the futon, but that’s it.
My family is as pacifistic as a congregation of zealous Quakers, but Super Smash Bros. Brawl clearly triggers a suppressed violent instinct even in those bearing my peace-loving genes.
If my two are any indication, Super Smash Bros. Brawl is a hit, and it’s destined to swiftly turn the world’s young people into raging Wiidiots.
Honestly, Pikachu is a little too cute for my taste. I’ll join the battle cry: “Die, Pikachu! Die, you annoying little electric rat!”