 Ms. Pac-Man arcade game
Call me a faggo – it wouldn't be the first time – but I can't help loving Ms. Pac-Man. Not only does this game feature the Farrah Fawcett of computer-generated hotties, but it's still as fun and addictive as ever … can't say the same thing for other 80s addictions, like coke or Gedde Watanabe. My video game abilities can only be described as "functionally retarded" – my performance declines in direct proportion to a game's complexity. Or perhaps "autistic" would be a better description, as I tend to be a good deal better at simple games than my arcade-connoisseur friends, who can master the most complicated ones with little effort. Many times have I been viciously trounced at one of those bombastic ninja-fighting or 3-D hockey games, leaving my friends to speculate whether I have any eye-hand coordination whatsoever, only to flummox them further by beating their asses at Tetris, Tron Deadly Discs, or Solitaire. It's in the video game arena where my friends' short attention spans actually benefit them, while my obsessive sense of focus limits me to championship only on the sloughed-off classics of yesteryear.
All that said, though I always enjoyed Pac-Man, it was actually too easy for me … one of the few games I can say that about, if there are in fact any others. Ms. Pac-Man is slightly more challenging – the maze changes from screen to screen; the bouncing fruit moves around; the ghosts are less slapstick (more like real ghosts); and the gameplay is faster. Just enough to keep me on my toes, but not enough to make me lose all three of my lives within 30 seconds and be reduced to a whimpering ninnypants, smashing my Lik-M-Aid® to the floor in bratty frustration and curling up to my mommy's bosom in embarrassment and shame, as I do when I play something like House of the Dead. Nope, I can last a good long while on Ms. Pac-Man, actually earning bonus points and clearing many levels instead of barely treading water with the absolute minimum achievement. And as a reward, I get a delightful little break every few levels, with little animated sketches that trace the charming soap opera of the doomed romance between Ms. Pac-Man and Pac-Man. It's so cute! Well, if that makes me a big sissy, then so be it. There must be a LOT of sissies like me around, because you can find Ms. Pac-Man, even today, in any arcade of even the lowest caliber, while all YOUR macho favorites from the 80s have retreated to the B.O.-permeated world of video game auctioneering and antique stores. So who has the last laugh now, Dr. Testosterone? The only drawback to Ms. Pac-Man is that I sometimes have to muscle young girls out of the way to get to play it. My theory is that once they see how much I rule at Ms. Pac-Man, I can easily get their babydoll t-shirts off for some hot under-the-training-bra action. In reality, though, they mostly either cry or spit "Loser!" at me … well whatever, it doesn't stop me from ruling.
Review by La Fée |
