By Craig P. Dixon, southcoast247.com correspondent Social Commentary 86
November 21st, 2006
I’ve been encamped here, laying siege to the seemingly unbreakable fortress,
five years.
Five long years ago I received word from the high command. Leave home. Join
the caravan of vehicles and material. Voyage to the doorstep of the enemy
and collect the wondrous booty afforded only the greatest of warriors.
And for a half decade we’ve encircled around the enemy fortress, suffering
only minor losses of manpower to indecisive skirmishes, marauding, and one
unfortunate accident involving E. Coli and corn dogs. The lack of a decisive
victory terribly drubbed our collective willpower, and we lost thousands to
desertion.
Tired, hungry and longing home, the men needed a moral boost. It was up to
me to raid the enemy, capture a hostage, and glean some intelligence that
would hopefully break the standstill.
Prior intelligence discovered a secret tunnel used by enemy spies in order
to converse with allies and infiltrate our ranks. My mission was to creep to
the tunnel’s entrance and wait. And wait until someone attempted to leave.
Take a spy captive. Interrogate the hostage. Then dispatch him, take
whatever spoils I found, and leave the body in the tunnel as a message to
other spies.
I huddled in the tunnel, tight against the urine-smelling concrete walls,
moving as little as possible, awaiting for my quarry.
And finally, on the second night, I heard shuffling footsteps in the tunnel.
A spy.
I leapt upon my prey as he passed. Subdued him quickly and sat him against
the wall.
“Answer all my questions, spy, and answer quickly, and this will all be over
soon. Hesitate, bullshit me, and I’ll drag this out for days. Got it?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, man?!? Who are you?” He begged.
I slapped him sharply. “I’m the one asking the questions here.”
“Wait. You’re one of those crazy dudes. From outside.”
“And you’re one of the fortress’ peons. From inside. When is the moment of
salvation?”
“Fortress? Moment of salvation? What the hell are you talking about, man?”
“Speak quickly, spy!” I slapped him hard across the face.
“What is the matter with you? We’ve put up with you dopes long enough. I
told Janice to call the cops, but that dumb bitch wouldn’t do it.”
“Shut the fuck up and answer the damned question!” I slapped him again.
“The moment of salvation? Wait…. You. Those clowns. You’ve been camping
outside, since the day after the release of Playstation 3, because Sony
announced they’d be releasing Playstation 4 in five years.”
“Yes, the 4. The prophesied Playstation 4. It was written…on EGM dot com.
Therefore, it must be so. You know of the prophecy?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what news, spy?”
“The release date….”
“Yes?” I thumbed my chin thoughtfully.
“It got pushed back a year.”
“What?!? You lie!”
“It’s no lie. If you people would just read the paper instead of creeping
around like rats, you’d know that already.”
“You’re meaning to tell me I’ve been camping outside this place for five
years, awaiting the prophesied Playstation 4 and its totally interactive
experience, and I’ve got to wait another year? FUCK!”
“Who knows…maybe it’ll get pushed back again.”
I lifted the spy to his feet and unbound him. “Today’s your lucky day. Get
the hell out of here.”
I returned to the front. The troops gathered round as I delivered news to
the general.
“The Playstation 4….”
“All hail the Playstation 4!” The troops shouted in unison.
“Has been put on indeterminate hiatus. They’re having serious issues with
the total interactive experience.”
“But the prophecy!” The general shouted. “The total interactive experience
was in late stage development upon the release of Playstation 3! It must be
complete! Heresy! Heresy! Heresy and blasphemy!”
“I’m afraid not, general. It’s over. The entire goddamned thing…over.”
Tears streaked the dirty faces of those brave boys. Some whimpered and wept
openly. Others just walked away. Morale totally crushed, the men began
packing camp.
“Where is everyone going?” The general screamed. “I command you to stop! We
should at least verify this information before acting rashly.”
“Face it, general. It’s over. The Playstation 4…the prophecies…were wrong.”
The dejected general returned to his tent, head bowed under the news. There,
he committed suicide with cyanide caplets he’d concealed, to use if ever
captured by the enemy.
The troops loaded their vehicles and, with none of the pomp and circumstance
that signaled our arrival, left the Best Buy parking lot.
I returned to my vehicle and took a long draught of stagnant rainwater. Then
I dragged the 20-year-old general’s body from his tent.
Then I sat on the general’s cot, first in line for the prophesied
Playstation 4.
I’ve been encamped here, laying siege to the seemingly unbreakable fortress,
five years.
