It was a dark and windy winter evening in October. More precisely, a Saturday evening, and my lovely wife was going out with the girls. As in many relationships, that’s when we men decide to do all the stuff we normally otherwise wouldn’t do …
… go to the chipper to get greasy fast food (burgers, wings and chips), drink normal coke, order pizza, smoke a pack of fags, watch horror or silly action movies (by the way, there are of course no silly action movies, just badly understood action movies) and play games on the Playstation. Not just any games, but gore, death and bloody games.
Personally, I play 80’s metal as it’s so much more fun and the lyrics are crap.
My few hours of boyish behaviour was upon me and I was looking forward to killing a few zombies in the latest Resident Evil game, while “watching” the shittiest action movies.
The evening started with a pack of Marlboro (reds of course) while I flushed down the batter burger with a few cans of Carlsberg. I have to support the local brewery. At this point, the Van Damme action movie on the tele was coming to an end, which is the great thing about these no-brain action movies – they only last for max. 90 minutes. Girlfriends just don’t get this. These men kick ass, and fast.
Time to chop the heads off of a walking zombie or shoot some bad guys in war torn Baghdad.
I loaded the Resident Evil game on my PS2 (Play station 2 for you who don’t dig the lingo and because I couldn’t afford PS3), turned off most of the lights in the apartment and turned up the volume. Bring it on!
Soon, the living room was filled with screams, blood splatter on the screen and distant gun fire, as I moved my way through the various levels fully concentrated. Adrenaline was pumping and I heard nothing other than the slicing of the chainsaw and the clattering chain-gun.
Zombies were reaching out from the darkness to smother me. Enemy snipers were trying to take me down. Pure horror and terrifying effects were constantly placing my arse at the edge of my seat, ready for the next wave of pain.
This was a perfect boy night in. My opportunity to show these fecking zombies who was the boss and commanding my unit effectively down the deserted streets of Baghdad. I was in full control. A real man in the making. Nothing could cramp my style.
My character was walking down a dark corridor in the Hive (Resident Evil) and my fingers were ready for the next flesh eater. Suddenly, a cold hand was placed on my shoulder and a soft voice asked if I was having fun. I literally jumped 3 feet from the sofa, screaming like a frightened pig. I nearly wet my pants. Fear of the worst kind had gripped me and I slowly moved into fetus position – the safest position to be in.
My dear wife had returned home without me hearing anything. She wanted to check on me, because she heard all those weird noises from the hallway; screams, laughter and gun fire. We live in the city centre, but it’s not that bad. My reaction and pale white face made her burst into laughter, and she laughed uncontrollably for at least 10 minutes. Personally, I didn’t find this amusing. At every gathering, she mentions it, and laughs again.
Soon after this experience I sold my PS2. Just couldn’t get back into the game. I was always looking over my shoulder.