Murder

Having recently completed Psych 1 (yes, I started my major requirements a bit late; what of it?), I now feel compelled to psychoanalyze everything in my life. You know the feeling; you’re studying so intensely for one class that it consumes your entire life, and everything you do reminds you of it. For example, last year during my one shower of finals period, I’d been studying so much for orgo that I started identifying the cracks in the tiles (“tri-methyl butane, acetic acid…”)

In any event, a couple of nights ago some friends and I were discussing favorite childhood games, and The Sims was brought up. For those who did not in fact have a childhood (or maybe just a sad and lonely one), The Sims is a computer game where you basically play God and control all aspects of a virtual family’s life from big things like life aspirations to little things like whether the kids do their homework. As in all things, cheating is rampant, and you soon develop all sorts of ways to get around the game’s few constraints, most of which involve killing your Sims (as the goal of the game is for them to succeed in life, bringing about their deaths requires real creativity).

Anyway, my Psych 1 radar perked up as soon as the conversation took this murderous turn, and I realized the manner in which we slaughtered our innocents was really quite telling. I will not, of course, be divulging my personal inclination (got to keep some mystery alive), but if you’re really curious, look into the recent death of CleverDog.

Friend 1, a fan of the related Zoo Tycoon, where you build your own theme park, enjoyed trapping guests in exhibits with dangerous animals and watching the blood fly. She clearly has primal jungle instincts buried deep in her subconscious. Friends 2 and 3 were Sims connoisseurs like myself. Two preferred the classic make-them-go-swimming-and-then-delete-the-pool-ladder-so-they-can’t-get-out approach. She must be suppressing her urge for torture, particularly waterboarding. Friend 3 had perhaps the most concerning method: she left them trapped in tiny doorless rooms until they wasted away. This is consistent with the actions of a psychopath.

Not only does this cruelly prolong the agony, but it’s also particularly concerning to me. The doorknob of my bedroom is very loose, and if you’re not careful it can completely fall off, trapping me in or out of my room. As I’m the only one who can consistently turn it without catastrophe, I leave a sock on the outside -- not because I’m always getting some action, but so that unskilled Muggles think twice about touching it. The other day, Friend 3 “accidentally” pulled off the outside knob, trapping me in my room for a couple minutes. So you can see why the discovery of her preferred murdering style is especially alarming to me, when she actually can trap me in a tiny room until I die. Since I have strong self-preserving instincts I will of course do everything I can to stay in 3’s good graces, but I’m also composing my last will and testament and choosing a casket, just to be safe.

In case I don’t make it to January, it’s been an awesome third semester of S&S. Thanks for following, and I hope you enjoy reading these half as much as I enjoy writing them. With any luck I’ll be back to brighten up your Mondays next semester as well, but if you don’t see me around campus after break, we all know what happened. Remember me fondly.