This is a great story. I laughed a lot.
Originally Posted by Kotaku.comToday, I went down to GAME on Dawson Street to pick up a copy of Bully, which has been released over in Ireland under the far inferior title Canis Canem Edit, because, as you all know, only the ancient tongue of philosophers and kings can accurately capture the spirit of a game about stink bombs, swirlies and atomic wedgies.
Everything was fine: I found Bully easily enough, brought it up to the counter and whipped out my credit card. But then the young whipper snapper scrutinized me.
"I need to see some ID, sir" he unctuously demanded. I considered grasping him by the lapels and swinging my hand back and forth in a devastating, sweeping arc across the pimply jowls of his blubbery face, shaking him awake again when he was on the verge of passing out. A Mike Hammer style bitch slap, as it were. But I quickly calmed down.
"I don't carry ID," I responded, truthfully.
"You don't carry ID?"
"I don't carry ID," I reaffirmed.
He couldn't believe it. "You don't carry ID?"
I started to repeat myself for a third time, then suddenly wheeled about in a bewildered double take. This freaked him out.
"Sir? Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, I think so: I just appear to have fallen through a rent in the fabric of time that sucked me back two seconds into the past," I explained. "I felt like I was endlessly repeating a conversation there for a moment. No worries. I seem to have escaped. Anyway, no, I don't have any ID on me: I don't have a license, and I left my passport at home."
He became apologetic. "Well, I'm sorry, sir, but I can't sell you this game without some identification. It's for ages 15 and older."
"Buddy, look at me: I'm practically 15 twice over."
"Well, looks can be deceiving, and this game has content not suitable for minors."
I was confused. "But just last week, I bought San Andreas from you guys. Then I took it home, ordered a hooker to blow me, and blew her head off with a sawed-off shotgun after she stepped out of the car . Then I took the car, drove it at a 100mph into a hospital, jumped out right before collision and shot the car with a bazooka for good measure. You didn't card me. What could Bully offer that's worse than that?"
The employee at GAME became conspiratorial. He leaned across the counter and, opening his eyes comically wide, whispered: "GAY. KISSING."
I feigned outrage. "What! Well, I never!" I shouted. Then I began walking around in a circle, ejaculating remarks I thought well indicative of moral outrage, such as "I'm calling my member of parliament!" and "There ought to be a law!" As sometimes happens when I go out in public, I suddenly found myself the focal point of a circle of bewildered, incredulously blinking stares.
I calmed down, thought for a second, then went back to talking to the GAME employee. "Look," I said soothingly. "I mean, I think swapping spit, let alone other fluids, with another man is as repugnant as you do. But how is gay kissing not appropriate for a 15 year old? I mean, we were both 15 once: gay kissing your buddies is the only way you get to practice how to kiss a real girl before the pressure's on and you're up at the plate, trying to hit your first homer... or, at the very least, a double. It's like how 12 year old girls straight girls strip down to their panties and practice cunnilingus on one another: it's just perfectly normal behavior for the staunch, morally upright youth who aspires to hetero excellence."
He couldn't argue with that logic. "Ummmmm...." he said. "Okay. Anyway, if you don't have ID, I still can't sell it to you, no matter how appropriate gay kissing is for kids. It's the policy of management." He raised his hands in the air, to indicate the power had been taken from him.
I didn't believe him; I decided to make one last ditch effort. "Boy!" I shouted in a tone of authoritarian command. "Look at me! In ancient Babylon did I tread; youthful was my gaze when it set upon the Lycean barques of yore. Old was I even when the first beasts writhed from the primordial ooze. Poets I have commanded to look upon my mighty works and despair; kings I have conquered; my wise lips have passed the eulogies of gods. Look upon me! The alpha! The omega! My name? Jehovah!"
I could have gone on like this for quite a while, but by this time the manager had wandered up. "Paudric," he sighed, rolling his eyes at me. "Just sell it to him already. He's like 27."
The point being: Jack Thompson was right. Bully is surprisingly easy for minors to purchase. Florian Eckhardt