Shame Boner

Listen video games, this is kinda awkward, but I need to ask you to stop trying to play with my penis.

It’s really rude. There I am, enjoying a healthy dose of violence or an engaging storyline when suddenly you ambush me with rogue batch of wank fodder and poke incessantly at my genitals, demanding I rise to attention. It’s pretty embarrassing video games, I mean you haven’t even bought me dinner yet.

I was happily indulging in some graphic murder there, and I don’t know about you but I don’t usually like to do it at half mast, that tends to make me feel like a psychopath. Why do you insist that I nurse a raging semi while I’m busy slitting throats? Can I not just enjoy a mild bout of nose breaking without it being fetish nun nose breaking? It’s pretty tough to concentrate on furious fisticuffs when I feel like I’m being conditioned like a filthy Pavlov’s dog, trained to perform a trouser salute every time someone gets their face punched in.

Your attempts to give me a murder boner every time I score a head shot are pretty disturbing, but things get really unsettling when you try and make me stiffen and cry at the same time. What’s up with that, video games? It’s not often you manage to move me emotionally, but do you really think that it helps if that movement begins in my underwear? Am I supposed to be extra mournful that the disposable woman just died because her tits look fabulous? Do you honestly think my appreciation of Harley Quinn’s sad, destructive depiction of an abused woman is somehow be enhanced by her prancing around in a nurse’s outfit, demanding my engorgement?

You’re making it hard for me video games, with this insistence on making it hard for me. I keep trying to tell people how interesting and fascinating you can be, but they can’t seem to see past my bulging crotch. All I want is to appreciate that Mass Effect’s Miranda as an interesting character without you snickering in my ear “Yeah she’s interesting, interesting in your pants!” Is that too much to ask?

Of course these aren’t the only times you try and arouse me, because you’re always trying to arouse me. It’s getting exhausting, video games. Can’t I get a little rest from this permanent hard on? Do I not have the right to be flaccid, even for a little while?

Do you think I like this? Do you honestly think I want my todger primed and ready at every minute of every day? Because I don’t want that video games, that would make it really hard to sit down. You seem certain that flashing a little cleavage will make me buy your shitty beat ’em up, but I hate to break it to you, that’s not going to work. I’m quite capable of giving myself an erection without you, I’ve been doing it for some time. It’s all pretty insulting, video games. Do you think I make my purchasing decisions with my dong? How stupid do you think I am? I wouldn’t trust him to buy some pic’n’mix, never mind spend £40.

So here’s the deal videogames: I know you really love my cock, I do too, but you’ve got to leave it alone when I’m busy killing or crying. Can you do that, video games? Can I trust you to leave me hanging? In return I’ll try and forget all those times you trying to toss me off over a shattered corpse, I’ll try and forget how sick you made me feel, and I’ll try and forget how you treated me like a moron.

It’s a simple deal, video games, but if we can both do our part, maybe, just maybe, we can both stop feeling like massive perverts.