The Gaming Onion I still Can’t Cut!

The naivety and borderline stupidity associated with infancy is something that I empathise with strongly, often with a pedantry for ascertaining solutions to simple equations through vague, suggestible deductions. I have always been ignorantly inclined to abide to my cerebral idiocy, with the severity of lapses in concentration perpetuated by my own, preconceived understandings and impetuous actions that reverberate through my vacant cranial cavity, which illicit exuberant jovial relief for my peers, with one instance that rigidly encapsulates this nurtured contempt for knowledge. In school–a time of incredible academic achievement–during a lesson of food technology, I was endeavouring to prepare a succulent banquet of such exquisite nourishment, that Moses deliberately omitted the recipe from the scriptures of the original “12” commandments, due to his clairvoyance indicating that the preservation of humanity would one day require this voluptuous recipe. Though in his haste to preserve its contents for future human consumption, he inadvertently etched out the twelfth commandant; “Thou shalt not watch and enjoy Michel Bay movies”. So powerful was its contents that even men would begin ovulating from the mere aroma of the decadent concoction, but of course this ambiguous meal must remain latent for fear of falling in to the hands of unscrupulous malcontent’s (In other words I’ve completely forgotten what the food was). But I digress…

“OK, check the map again. Because I’m sure this isn’t Disneyland!”

Preparations for the specified creation required me to dissect an onion into more manageable pieces, but in my verdant pursuit for gourmet perfection, I was less than Michelin star. While demonstrating how to cut the perpetrated vegetable to a curious student, blissfully unaware of my inept aptness with knife, I began my incision thusly; by proceeding to slice into the onion with the blunt side of the implement. Carving vigorously with my index finger firmly perched on the conversely splintered edge for more purchased durability, bemused by its lack of penetration. Though you’d think that such a sharp implement burrowing so penetratively into my appendage would elicit some form of retaliation, its sharp, though ethereal indentations failed to register with any cognitive empathy. That was until trickles of claret began to moisten the still liberated shalot   revealing my misguided implementation. Suffice to say that I cut through more layers of my own flesh than I did the resistant bulb, and very few of my fellow pupils sampled my less than palatable results, made by my literal culinary “fingers”. “Hm? I’m getting sage, coriander with a distinct infusing of saffron, with a hint of…what is that? (licks fingers) yes, yes a hint of haemoglobin”. There has been a similar degree of familiarity with that incident that resonates profoundly with many of my gaming experiences.

“Fighting a giant, mystical tentacle? Then there’s only one thing to do…RUN!”

During Dragons Dogma for instance, one seemingly impenetrable enemy, with disciplined antagonism funnelled through its viscous, mystical tentacles with devastating mandibles that restrict mobility left me reeling in erratic . But it wasn’t it’s volatile flailing that made this faceless creature so formidable, but the sheer volume of tendrils that wrap with all the constrictive velocity of a reclusive grandmothers, affectionate hug. After precarious maintenance of my allies resources, motility and fleeting mortality, more of these grotesque deformities began protruding through, filtering perennially through cracks in the surface before my assembled companions, as well as myself met with the same fatalities. It took me half an hour to deduce that the only available option against such persistent enemy was to abandon my company, jostling past them with cowardly intent and run like hell! Why a game would emphasis such craven recourse is beyond me, but accosting extensive time for such a simple solution is needlessly pedantic. A more recent “onion” inspired incident that further laments my incompetence, was during “The Last Of Us”. After assisting my companion by retrieving a fallen ladder from an incline that could be used as a makeshift, lateral crossing, I became trapped into a seemingly impenetrable room. After 10 mins of dubious deliberation I finally discovered a crevice from which to escape. Now let me just literate and clarify that this was not a spatially grand environment, nor was the aforementioned crevice indistinguishable from the dilapidated environment. It was placed directly in full view!

      My complacent, cognitive desertion is often guided by my spontaneity and a haste, leaving me nursing my moistened brow, which is now firmly clasped in my protective palm, as I begin peering incredulously through my fingers contemplating how I missed such a simple route. People often suggest that modern games are too obvious, too forthright in its assertions by gently grasping the players anxious, perspiring hand and guiding them to the appropriate destination with minimum of dedicated directives. But I would deride further satisfaction from reduced necessity on utilising my mental capacity. That and a steel thimble for my finger to avoid future, vegetable based embarrassment.

Have you ever been duped by a games simplicity? Let me know of your experiences. Cheers.