Try the game Left Behind.

Godless heathens in San Francisco don’t like this one.

You are an asteroid who has seen many of your brethren blasted out of existence by evil spaceships in the original game. The loss of your fellow rocks pains you deeply, and you have longed for revenge. Now you are going to get those spaceships.

game

We’re certainly going to need an alternative to the reality.

Play here.

Hat tip to PJM.

Now here’s a game that is a practical training simulator applicable to real life.

Hat tip to Seneca the Younger.

A giant with a magnifying glass is destroying the city.

game

Fire that kitten from your cannon, and hit the right objects, and you can get it to travel 2113′ (644 meters)… maybe farther!

Caution: annoying music on entry page.

Kate, better known for her Electric Venom blog, is attracting lots of hits today at her more domestically-oriented second blog for her amusing rendition of the only too familiar complaint of the wife who finds she can’t compete with her husband’s favorite

video game that pushes the player to spend more, More, MORE time being better, bigger, badder, more brilliant than they were just a few minutes ago, a few days ago… better than anyone else ever has been. For some, there is something insidiously sexy about outdoing one’s self as well as any other lesser beings… and these games pander precisely to that weak spot. It is a frightening, yet oh-so-modern thing to sacrifice a dream for one’s real future to the reality of something that is not and never will be truly real. I will not have another baby by the time I’m 40 because a computer game eats up those precious hours that real, live ova wait in my body for a man who is not there.

I’ve lost count of the nights I’ve lain upstairs waiting because he said he’d “be right up.” At first I was grateful: I like to read a bit before bed, and this guaranteed me the chance to do it. But over and over that “right up” turned into one, two, three hours. Sometimes he’d wake me up as he climbed into bed and, rolling over, I’d see dawn’s light seeping through our windows, light as weak and watery and ineffective as the tears I’d ceased to shed.

Before you ask: it was never another woman. I’ve always known that. If you could see the way my husband’s face lights up when he looks at me, the way he dotes on me when there’s no computer nearby, the way his voice sinks into a velvet-chocolate register when he speaks my name or talks of me, well, then you’d know as I do that there is no other woman. I am it for him, as he is for me. Forever and ever, amen.

Except for that video game. And, damn, she is a harsh mistress. In reality, I am his and I have no question that he is, and always will be, mine. But these games tread on the thin edges of reality, and in that realm I have no power. I have no identity within that realm, I am without reference, without meaning. There, within his game, there is only him and, the truth be told, there is no us.

Hat tip to Memeorandum.

This game is a hard one.

They have it coming.

GAME

Sink those pirates with your cannon.

game

Board dots game.

link

Hat tip to Andrew Sullivan.