Why do we play video games? Why do you play video games? I have the burning answer to this flint of a question, and the answer is as simple as the one that's often lost in anything else you do, abstract, complicated, blunt, or athletic in your life: to feel good. Despite what you may experience on your day-to-day excursions to your favourite console or computer game world, the truth of the matter, which may have escaped you, is that that game is enjoyable. As with anything else, surely, the degrees of "fun" or "enjoyment" may vary from a marvelously inane Sonic the Hedgehog to the way underappreciated Syndicate. The ultimate goal however is the same: video games, at least at the moment you touchtype their proverbial start.exe, appear to offer you a better, more enjoyable, more-or-less fun alternative than Real Life. Let's be honest; presume that you're male and you have the opportunity to go ahead and, condom-freely, in succession or simultaneity, sleep with whatever gamut of would-be supermodels that your radical metropolis had to offer. Why on God's green earth would you limp-dick exchange it for control over an autistic plumber wall-jumping through galaxies proclaiming to yourself for justification, "intuitive user interface!" Even the most sophisticated of retards must pick the more evolutionarily sensible option. If you're still unsure, allow me to burst a bubble of myth in your head: herpes is not terminal.

This is, at the very least, why I play video games, and I try to keep myself grounded in that respect, trying as hard as my unflattering penis will allow to not erect any other petty reasons such as but not limited to, "this game is ultra-realistic," "it's so complex and nuanced," "it's as social as any medium afforded by life," or "this will increase my net-productivity." The bottom line is that so long as you don't have the good option (see above) available to you, the vast remainder of what life offers makes it easy to bin your real-world responsibilities as secondary the moment you grip the grip of a fictional one that you can better wield. And, at this point, it might do well to remind you that you are still human; a pathetic, food-dependent human who will be required, as exemplified by the truest of Koreans, to either die or fulfill your earthly needs, if at least to continue your adventures as a still less-obese, mustachioed Dwarven princess critting, fuck, I don't know, Felwolves in Felwood using your two-handed Felsword, wearing your best tailored, purple Felpants, the recipe for which you received from the dastardly NPC, Coc'kthwack, as reward for the longest quest chain that your forum-friends would never-ever-ever endure, even full-knowing you'll be vendoring that shit once the Lich King xPack hits.

So, ok, ha ha, I'm a hypocrite because I've obviously played WoW, and worst of all on several, disparate occasions. Different classes, on different accounts, in different realms, aligned different factions, wearing different personalities, perhaps even different genders to the unsuspecting MMORPGer, but, most importantly, during different epochs of my Real Life: once from South Korea on a East server, once as solace from a terrible trip to India, once for the satisfaction of progress with—FUCKING finally!—a competent leveling friend, once because I could no longer pretend to not want to level 60-70, and once because life at the time was just so obviously shit in comparison. It all adds up to 8 official WoW characters—if the math doesn't work out in your head, don't worry; it just means you've never played WoW. Stop reading this and go do something useful. The only justifiably common thread that ties together these phases of my life is this: World of Warcraft just felt better than the shit that faced me when I got up in the morning. That's an interior joke. When I'm waking up to WoW, I never wake up in the morning. Ha ha, and this paragraph comes full circle.

I'm certainly not the biggest WoW addict you know; I've run my biggest raid, ZG, once, nor am I the most clueless tard, spamming Heroic Strike at 30 rage, or haplessly aggroing 15 Troggs at once to collect 8 naked statuettes in Loch Modan. But I'm going to claim, with no authority but my own, to be fondly aware enough of the psychology makeup of Azeroth's inhabitants, whose titles range anywhere from Casual to Second-job (but let's be honest, if the number of times you've run home to play WoW exceeds the number of times you've run to the job that pays you, we both know which is your true blue primary occupation). Perhaps my most intimate relevation about WoW is that I've earnestly tried to minimize the time I've played it, while playing it. Yeah, it's called denial, and don't tell me you're not familiar because I can smell the smoke from your fucking pants wafting over right now. Anyway, yeah, so, I avoided serious guilds and subsequent raiding, leveled no more than 2 characters at once (oh noes, inefficient bonus XP), and had a friend list shorter than 3 human beings. Simultaneously, though, I've doubled, tripled, and quadrupled up quest objectives, read forum posts on rogue DPS builds, self-business ventured the Auction House, and even exchanged PvP tokens for higher UINT16 values of some other stupid attribute.

I know a friend who took up WoW with a similar set of canons as me, but in being afflicted with depression more frequently, in whatever degrees they afflict a susceptible man, and despite starting the game after me, he has gone on to far-exceed my days /played on Skullcrusher and elsewhere, on and off, on and off, and on and off again. And the way I see it is this: WoW is no longer so much a game than is an analgesic. He has recounted to me, much like I have experienced on my own, the wonder and magic of dilly-dallying through Azeroth as an early nublar, and still being rewarded for it. Even further, I would argue that any serious gamer is entitled to that same childlike experience of potential and awe afforded only by enlisting in a huge and beatific MMORPG such as WoW. (Hint: if you couple the repetition of any music album with popping your WoW cherry, that album will serve to recall those first fond memories you hold, much like a first love, albeit without boobs.) But even a pretty wife turns ugly with time. Or, she turns into a bitch. After the romantic phase passes, you either drop the game or it turns into what I think of it now, a crutch. You don't have to use it everyday, and you may even go for long periods without so much as a head turn toward the corner where you stash it, but it's there, you know it's there, and you know it's as reliable as you can afford a cable connection. Then after using it for a while, you quickly start kicking yourself for what you think are personal shortcomings, "Why can't I just be free of this? I need to improve my will power!" But then once you stop using it, all your leg bones start splintering up, and that shit just hurts. Much like a bitch.

But in good 'ol fashioned Frankness, it's not your fault. The actual reason is simple, and it's my thesis. If you can't figure what that is, read the first paragraph again.

No one who's given WoW a serious shot can possibly argue against it being enjoyable in some deep-seated way, assuming in all fairness that that person is:

a. not my mother, who can barely operate a mouse

b. not carrying a sack full of the carpal tunnel

c. the benefactor of at least $15/month

Ok, that last one actually doesn't even count, as any accountant will quickly add up your litany of non-expenditures (read: gross savings) as soon as you take up WoW. You'll even eat less, and of the things you eat only the cheapest, quickest edibles you can prepare during flight times.

But yeah, you asshole writing this, you forgot to mention all the other fascinating aspects of the game! The in-game economics, which so closely mirror those of real markets, the wet bedsheet of player interactions and culture that ensconce the actual game, not to mention the huge fucking assholes that whine to all their secret guild lovers about DKP and their late entry into the world of pubes. Well, if you happen to be one of these people who think I'm missing the point, let me tell you something that will blow your mind: it's a fucking game, played by fucking people, on the fucking internet. If you can't fit that to address all of the above trap-arguments, God help you. But even worse, if you let these things be a distraction to the actual playing the fucking game, which is the best part of the fucking game, then sorry, God won't even help you.

I'm starting graduate school this fall. The last time I played WoW was a one-month paid return account—requiring nothing less than a administrative resurrection of deleted avatars—earlier this summer. I'll be luckier than a Super 7 jackpotter if I don't touch WoW again before I receive my PhD, and since I'm not a betting man, I fully expect to reprise at least one of my now-morally maligned characters into the ePenis glory of higher-level-than-before. When? How should I fucking know? I don't choose when life hurts me. It just does.

-oh, why the hell not, Brussell