It’s rare, but not completely unheard of, for us to check in on some political thing. It’s something we’re reticent to do; it’s easy to do wrong, and usually is, and so we avoid it the same way you might avoid any other treacherous pit.
The trouble is that, occasionally, an entity can dig a trench of this kind entirely around you, and it cannot be avoided. For the purposes of the metaphor, flight is impossible; I know you are enthusiastic about games, and have already begun to devise a method of escape. I appreciate it! Let me know.
You may resent such incursions as today’s strip, and rest assured, I resent them also. I vastly prefer our ordinary business, which may be thought of as the application of psychic unguents. I don’t have any particular interest in carrying water for the Gaming Industrial Complex, which is fraught on its best day, like any human endeavor. I sure as shit don’t give it unfettered access to my children. But I couldn’t be expected to sit completely inert on a day when ALL media - every way that a society talks to itself, every form of communication - was being set up the bomb. It was beyond surreal, and drove a wedge straight through their own base of support; their choice of boogeyman made it generational. It’s the same message I heard in church circa 1986, frankly. The message discipline is incredible.
I grew up in a hunting family; I’m not afraid of guns, but I certainly don’t worship them. They are devices which throw lethal metal at high speeds. I mean, right? It stands to reason that such devices would be correlated with injury, and it stands to reason that we could discuss the extent to which these injuries could be foreseen or avoided. If you don’t want me to talk about this kind of stuff, go make your world less dumb. That will deprive me of the opportunity.
Merry Christmas, or your localized Christmas equivalent,