Doctor Oak
Can't Touch Dis.
- Joined
- Jul 19, 2004
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Written by a friend and co-owner of Pokecharms (The one and only Nemesis) under my direction and from my original idea, we present to you a festive tale of a Lawyer long since lost his way on a path to redemption:
(Excuse any errors and the fact that it's not the most brilliantly written thing evar, it was only really written as a joke and was done quickly)
(Excuse any errors and the fact that it's not the most brilliantly written thing evar, it was only really written as a joke and was done quickly)
Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Thompson signed it: and Thompson's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.” Old Marley was as dead as an FPS player.
Mind you, that is not to imply that all FPS Players are dead, but to Thompson that is how they would all end up, dead because of their fascination with the genre. It had been seven years since Marley had been run over by a gamer rushing to pick up his pre-ordered Playstation, but Jack Thompson’s hatred for the industry remained solid to this day.
Children hid on the streets whenever Thompson was around, making sure he did not spy their handheld games devices, and attempt to blame them for one crime or another. He was well known for this, having sued all of the major games developers in the land for various reasons.
His condemnation of the games industry had overtaken his life, refusing to visit his brother and twenty one year old nephew, the dwarf Tiny Tim. This, my friends, was because Tim’s small stature reminded him of the many dwarfs littered through the evils known as MMORPGs.
His unhealthy obsession not only harmed himself, but the people unfortunate enough to work for him, particularly his assistant Bob Cratchet, and this, my friends, is where my tale begins.
“Sir?” Cratchet said shyly, knocking on his bosses door, before sliding it open slowly. He knew his request would not be taken lightly.
“What is it Crachet?” Thompson demanded, standing from behind his desk, the candle light showing everyone his rapidly greying hair. “Don’t you know I’m busy? It’s almost Christmas, lots of lawsuits to prepare!” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Brilliant time of year! Lots of new violent games to condemn!”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you about, sir.” Bob said quietly. “I need tomorrow off, if that’s ok with you sir?”
“Tomorrow?” Thompson shouted loudly, slamming his fists on his wooden desk. “But tomorrow is Christmas Eve! I need you here! Why on earth would you need tomorrow off along with Christmas Day? Is one day off a year not enough?”
“Well sir,” Cratchet continued, nervously. “I still need to get my son a Christmas gift, you see he wants an Xbox 360, and I hear that the local generic games store will be having a shipment tomorrow. It will be my only chance to get him what he wants for Christmas.”
“Get out!” Thompson roared, his eyes aflame with rage, as his employee sulked from the office, and closed the door slowly with a creak.
Thompson’s way home that evening was as lonely as usual, as children scurried away from him, leaving heavy footprints in the festive snow. Most people would be upset about this, but it didn’t matter to him. Thompson was doing his job, showing the world the true evil of video games, and nothing else mattered. If Cratchet’s son could not get hold of his precious console, at least one more innocent child could remain pure.
His black boots stomped heavily up the steep step to his front door as Thompson fumbled for the key from his pocket. He was about to insert it in to the keyhole, when he noticed something unusual about his doorknocker. He hadn’t paid too much attention to it before, but he could have sworn it never used to have a face.
“Marley?” Thompson exclaimed, as he saw the golden face of his long dead friend. “Impossible!”
“Nothing is impossible Jack!” Marley said cheerfully. “Have you never played a platform game? You always have more than one life!”
“You should know I have never played a game of the sort. I have always despised them, and since your death at the hands of that murderous maniac, I have made it my mission to punish gamers everywhere.”
“Jack, Jack, Jack.” The metal faced Marley said shaking his head. “He wasn’t a murderous maniac, it was a kid on a bike. I don’t want you to avenge my death, I’m happy in the after life. You are on the wrong path Jack, and tonight you will be given the chance to redeem yourself. You will be visited by three ghosts, who shall show you there error of your ways. ”
“I don’t want to redeem myself!” Jack exclaimed, but the doorknocker had returned to normal. Shaking his head, Jack slid the key in to the door and went inside.
“I must get more sleep.” He said to himself, slumping in a large leather chair, and throwing his grey suit jacket on to the sofa opposite. The candles around him flickered, which was odd, because he never used to have candles in there, as Jack Thompson slowly drifted to sleep.
“Waka-waka!”
Thompson turned his head, his eyes still tightly closed as he tried to get comfortable again.
“Waka-waka!”
“Hmm?” Thompson muttered as he slowly opened his eyes, to see a very strange sight. In front of him stood a large yellow circle, with a triangular segment cut from it, like a pie. However, this pie had big black and white eyes.
“What?”
“Waka-waka!”
Jack looked even more puzzled as words written in big white letters scrolled in front of him.
“Jack, I am the ghost of Gamers past. I am here to remind you of your past, and how you have not always hated video games and the people who play them.”
“Liar!” Thompson exclaimed. “I have always hated those infernal things!” As he spoke, his house seemed to fade from around him and the large yellow apparition.
“What is this place?” Jack asked his digital guide as a new building appeared around him.
“Don’t you recognise it?” Came the scrolling text below Pac-Man as he let out a “Waka-waka!”
“A little.” Jack replied, as he looked at the large arcade cabinets that filled the room, with children huddled around them, feeding coins in frantically. Thompson stepped forward towards a particular cabinet and watched the display. A small sprite of a man dressed in red and blue dungarees ran across a long platform, jumping over a rolling barrel as it came towards him, before climbing up a ladder, and continuing.
“Do you remember now?” Jack read the subtitles as Pac-Man spoke.
“A little.” He nodded, as the large monkey that resided at the top of the level ran away, taking the princess with him. “ It is familiar.”
“Your go Thompson!” The child who was playing shouted, as he stepped away from the console and let another child, who was wearing a grey suit, which matched his hair, stepped forward.
“That’s, me?” Jack said, remembering, as the child Jack Thompson took the controls. Immediately a barrel hit the small man, squashing him flat. A chorus of laughter echoed around him from the crowd of children, as the small child walked away, looking at the floor.
The arcade vanished as Jack found himself in his own house again, with Pac-Man standing in front of him.
“That was part of your lesson.” The subtitles transcribed. “Your next visitors will be arriving soon.”
“Lesson?” Jack shouted, as the yellow ball vanished. “How was that a lesson?”
“Lesson?” Jack repeated the words in his head. He couldn’t understand how this was meant to make him change his ways, now he knew where his deep hatred of video games came from.
His thoughts were interrupted by a strange noise from beneath his floor, as the wooden floor boards started to splinter apart. As the wood shattered, Thompson saw a large green pipe appear from the floor.
“What’s going on?” He yelled, as a figure appeared from the pipe, vaguely resembling the sprite that was inside the games cabinet. He had red overalls over a blue tee shirt, and a black moustache. On his head was a red cap, emblazoned with an ‘M’. Jack knew who this was. He had worked on one case trying to convince the courts that one of this plumbers games had made a teenager pick up fireballs and throw them at venus fly traps.
“Its-a me!” The figure yelled in his Italian accent. “Mario!”
“Not so fast!” Came another voice. As a blue blur appeared in Thompson’s front room. “I’m the ghost of Gamers present! Sonic the Hedgehog!”
“You!” Thompson yelled as he recognised the blue hedgehog. “I had a case against you for appearing in a game with guns.”
“Look,” Sonic said, pointing a large gloved finger at the human. “I was contractually bound to be in that game. Did you even play it? I said I would never use a gun, ever.”
“Not-a now!” Mario interrupted. “We-a are the ghosts of-a Christmas present!”
“Right!” Sonic said cheerfully. “We are here to show you the good games do!”
“Impossible.” Thompson laughed, as the house vanished again, and he found himself on the dim lit streets.
“Watch!” Sonic said, pointing at a figure as he approached carrying a bag with the name of a generic games retailer on the side.
“It’s Crachet!” Thompson said with surprise. “What’s he doing out here at this time?”
“Because-a” Mario explained, “You did not a-give him the day off-a he-a had to go to-a all-a night games store. Now-a we shall take you too-a see the joy that-a X Box 360 will-a bring to his son.”
“I thought I was the console whore?” Sonic laughed, before looking to Bob in shock. “Wait, what’s going on? That shouldn’t be happening!”
Jack and the two characters watched as two men jumped on the figure of Crachet.
“Give me your money!” One yelled, as the other beat him round the head with a baseball bat.
“I have none!” Crachet yelled fearfully. “I just used it to buy this X Box 360 for my son!”
“X what?” One thug asked the other.
“I think it’s some kind of games console. Let’s just take that anyway!” With that the first attacker grabbed the generic games retailer bag from Bob and ran away from the fallen man, his partner following.
“Opps.” Mario said, looking to Sonic. “That-a wasn’t-a meant to happen, was-a it?”
“Nope.” Sonic said, looking to Jack. “This visitation’s over!”
As he re-appeared alone in his house, Jack took a seat again. So far he had learnt that video games had ruined his child hood, and now they had caused Bob Crachet to be beaten over the head with a baseball bat. It must have been because of games, why else would you beat someone with a bat?
Thompson was just about to try and sleep again when a ghosty figure appeared behind him, causing the lawyer to turn around with shock.
“Death?” Jack said quietly, as the cloaked figure nodded. Thompson could see something was different about the figure, but was unsure whether it was the Nike shoes, the EA tagged cloak or the cup of Starbucks coffee in his hand. “You are the ghost of Gamers future? A corporate machine?” Death nodded, as only death can.
“So I was right! Games are evil!”
Death did not react, as the room vanished again, and the two men, both feared and loathed by just about everyone, appeared on a dark hill. On the tip of the hill stood a grave stone, engraved “Jack Thompson- Murderously murdered by a mob in a murderous rage.”
“It can’t be.” Jack said, kneeling by his grave. “Why did this happen?” Death merely pointed at the stone again, as the text scrolled up the stone, like a word file would in word. “After Jack Thompson successfully banned every games console on Earth, he was ripped to pieces by a mob made up of every gamer on Earth.”
“That was a bit rushed.” Thompson commented as he reappeared alone n his front room. “I was right though. Gamers are evil. Thank you ghosts!” Jack shouted. “You have confirmed my life's work! Games made my childhood miserable, they promote violent muggings involving baseball bats and mob murders. I swear from this day forward that I shall never change my ways! I shall continue to work against all that is associated with games and gamers and irradicate them all!”
Some where in heaven….
“Well, that went well.” God said, the sarcasm clear in his voice as he looked down at Marley. “Change his ways my ASS.”