Molly walks across the carpet to her parent's affluent flat-screen and starts hooking up her emulator. It is a Frankenstein monster of microchips attached to a partly wooden control panel complete with joy stick. She made it herself -- 'and Mom and Dad said video games killed your creativity.' Maybe that was true of games these days with their hyper-realistic graphics, but the ones she played left a lot of room for your imagination.
Flicking on the wide t.v. displayed a list of games not a one post dating the millenium. Showing the Gs at present it sported such titles as Gauntlet and Golden Ax. Molly laughed thinking of the micro game withing Golden Ax where your hero must bludgeon annoying gnomes to death as part of their never ending quest for potions. Her hand hovered over the button almost selecting it for just the micro game (she'd beaten it more times than she could remember). But, inevitably she scrolled down to the Rs where her current obsession was located -- Rampage.
~~~
"Clifford," Deems called to his fat son who is bracing himself against a bushel of rug fibers to keep from falling over. The porky teenager was terrified than anyone; in fact, as he looked up at something a wide stinking stain spread out from his crotch. 'My son is wetting himself?! Ever an embarassment to the family.' "Clifford, a Deems is a Deems no matter how tall so suck it up and for god sakes clean yoursel..." Suddenly Fredrick's view of his son is replaced by a pink wall. The tiny lawyer gazes up to survey a titanic toe whose nail hovers hundreds of feet above. Further up, adrift in the stratosphere, he can just make out the hem of a night dress streaking across the sky like a con-trail.
When the Goddess raises her toe, the gorey remains of Cliff string out between it and the floor. Confronted with the liquified remains of a son Fredrick puts his hands to his face and...
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