The Playstation Home Killer

videogames playstation home american psycho

I played some Home over the holidays. It was great.

First, I tried to make a guy who looked just like me. Only, well, there were no goatee options, and I have a goatee.  Also, unfortunately, there were no eye options that didn’t make me look like a serial killer.  That was okay, though, because when I was done making my character, I was placed in an empty room that looked like it belonged to Patrick Bateman, only it said it was my room.  Weird.

I walked outside of my room, and waited two minutes to download the next room.  I made a sandwich while I waited.  When it was done loading, I walked around a plaza that was mostly inhabited by see-through ghost people.  Putting two and two together, I assume that these were the virtual victims of my serial killer avatar.  I did a dance in front of these ghosts to show my lack of virtual remorse.  Oh how I miss the cultural significance of the running man!  Hammer, don’t hurt them.

Later, I went to a movie theater, only it was some kind of futuristic movie theater where no one sat down, and instead of a movie playing on the screen, it was just a progress bar showing that the movie was “loading.” Very cinema verite.  I left before the climax and went to a bowling alley.  All of the lanes were full and I couldn’t bowl. I went to the arcade machines in the bowling alley and played some kind of puzzle game with trains. It too was self-aware, an examination of society and culture, making its users question what life is really about when they spend four-hundred-dollars on the most powerful game console in the world, only to play a tetris clone clearly made by a 9th grade computer science student with a Thomas and Friends fetish.  After questioning my very existence, I went to the virtual mall and bought a virtual hat for my virtual serial killer, using real world, non-virtual money.

Which again, is great, because in this economy, what I really need to be doing is spending money on things that AREN’T EVEN FUCKING REAL.

I then turned off the PS3 and cried.  Merry Christmas to you too, Sony.

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