So, in yet another spectacular example of my failure as a parent, I have no idea what the hell Minecraft is.
Um…perhaps I should have an idea since my 9 year old son Nick plays it C-O-N-S-T-A-N-T-L-Y. By constantly, I mean when he’s not doing homework, in school, playing baseball, sleeping or eating, he’s MineCrafting (soon to be an Oxford dictionary verb, like Googling?).
For all I know, MineCraft has these features:
- topless 36DD Playmate-style commandos
- guns, guns and more guns
- hot rodding through the streets of some gotham-esque computer generated city, ignoring stop signs and blowing through red lights, as you toss empty cans of Bud Light out the window
- the “f” bomb used in every other sentence (sort of like at our house)
- apocolypic zombies eating the flesh of innocents
- knives, machetes and other sharp instruments of destruction
- point accumulation indexes based on drinking, smoking, cussing, shooting, lying, stealing, porno appreciation, virtual promiscuity, vehicular violations, drug cartel leadership, and amassing the most felony charges
I’ll tell you that it’s my observation that the most important, get-you-the-highest-score feature of Minecraft appears to be ignoring your mother when she asks you to unload the dishwasher.
I was talking with a colleague about the game and asked him if he knew anything about it. He told me it was actually a creative game, where you build things. He said “think of it like an electronic erector set, or electronic legos.”
Wow. No boobs. No bombs. No bad-assin’ around. Just being creative and letting your imagination run away with you?
Perhaps I need to worry less about Minecraft and see if I can up the lousy score I seem to have on Momcraft.