I cannot afford “Starcraft 2.” I can’t really afford to eat, either, but the former is a more severe problem. It’s out there right now, and people are harvesting it for its precious resources, while I sit here like an idiot with my copy of “Red Dead Redemption,” a game which came out an entire month ago. What is this, the Middle Ages? A month old game? It might as well be “Duck Hunt” or “Galaga,” for crying out loud, because what it isn’t is a COPY OF STARCRAFT 2 DAMN IT!
I’m starving over here, people. I’m also drowning, suffocating, and burning alive. How could Blizzard do this to me? How could they release a game this important and not give me a free copy? I played the original “Diablo” until my eyes bled and I was trying to “click” on my bed to get into it and sleep for two hours before getting up to play more. I tee-peed the houses of every “Command and Conquer” fan I knew, screaming “Starcraft 4 Life” as I fled the scene. I even sabotaged “Warhammer 40k” games just so people wouldn’t know Blizzard ripped them off. I’ve been there for this company, and it’s high time they were there for me. Look at them over there. They’re silly with copies of “Starcraft 2,” you can’t tell me it’s impossible for them to spare one. One precious, sweet little copy. They have thousands upon thousands of them, but nooooo, they just won’t bend, I have to pay them first. I’m standing on the rain-soaked door step like Oliver Twist, begging for a little kindness, and what do I get in return? A cold, unfeeling hand outstretched, palm up, asking for money I don’t have. You heard it here first, folks: Blizzard extorts orphans.
Break texted me last night advising me I should “get online” with intention to “hit up sc2” with him and Mecha. He just assumed a copy of the game was in my possession, much the same way a person would invite you to go bowling and assume you had hands. Do you know what the worst part is, Dear Reader? I didn’t correct him. I was like, “Man, I am super busy tonight, Break. I will do my best.” I stepped into a sad little fantasy where I was one of his kind, a person with unlimited wealth and the means to appease his flighty desires; I might have even made up some crap about wanting to beat the campaign first. Honestly, the lie felt good, some part of me even believed what I was saying. For a brief moment I was lost in a world where I, Andrew Allen, was the proud commander of the Zerg swarm. And then the person next to me asked why I was standing in place with my eyes closed and my fingers outstreched, making clicking motions in midair.
Later that night, I came clean, and Break attempted to downplay the awesome power at his fingertips. He promised me that it was pretty much “the same game,” and tried his best to shrug indifferently. He then promptly ended our conversation so he could “get in some sc2 before bed.” The problem is, it was nine thirty at night, and last time I checked, Break is not my grandmother. Nine thirty is not bed time. Nine thirty is not bed time one bit. Five hours later, I was ankle deep in tear-soaked tissues, pretending to play GameTrailers videos, and Break was still online. Damn you, sir. Damn you right in your stupid, rich face.
It has helped a little that there aren’t any reviews up; some part of me can just pretend the game isn’t actually out. After all, during the Beta, I had gotten used to the fact that other, less worthy specimens were permitted to put their grubby paws on the game before me, and this almost doesn’t feel any different. Almost. The problem is, there is no website where you can hide from Blizzard’s massive, salt-in-the-wound, trumpet-sounding banners: “OUT NOW. STARCRAFT II.” Thank you, Blizzard. Thank you so bloody much.
God only knows when I’m going to be able to drop the coin necessary to make “Starcraft II” mine, but until then, pulling myself out of bed every morning is a battle. In the land of dreams, I own a dozen copies, and I’ve installed them all on separate computers throughout my personal Bat-Cave. I frolick from monitor to monitor, play for a few minutes, then move on. And then I realize that I’m probably losing all twelve games, and promptly awake to a cold, unfeeling, “Starcraft II”-less world. Woe is me, Dear Reader.
