Tag Archives: angry birds

87 reasons dads should never touch “Angry Birds Star Wars”

 

For real, I've been laughing at this for three weeks straight.

For real, I’ve been laughing at this for three weeks straight.

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GateHouse — The thing that I love most is how the 8-year-old hands me — me! — the iPad to clear a level of “Angry Birds: Star Wars,” like that’s something that I can do better. Like because I am a Grown Person with my own retirement account, flood insurance and cholesterol medicine (ha! just kidding about the retirement account, and possibly flood insurance) I possess magic Angry Birds-Flinging powers available only to graying people whose bones make weird noises when they get up in the morning.

I suppose I should be thankful for this, that at the age of near-9 my son still holds me in enough esteem to shovel me problems he finds insurmountable and I, being a dynamic and powerful father, will not hesitate to squoosh a junta of cartoon pigs who are wearing stormtrooper masks. I should also be thankful that we haven’t encountered any Insurmountable Problems that involve, say, removing a snake from someplace confined and damp, or attending to something in or around an engine block.

But most of the time, I’m just watching the kid squish birds. Actually, I’m sort of watching him, because my aging eyes cannot adequately track his fingers. All they see is hands moving, going from one spot to another without apparently visiting the space in between, like a skinny ninja who cannot remember to brush all of his teeth, and then some pigs explode. He’ll fling a bird and evaluate in mid-flight whether or not the bird’s trajectory is pleasing to his little spongebrain, and if it’s clear the bird isn’t going to splat where it’s supposed to splat he’ll have paused, canceled and restarted the level basically before I’ve realized that the iPad is on. One would think someone with this kind of preternatural grasp on physics and trajectory would be able to walk up a door marked PUSH and not pull it, yet here we are.

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I’m just gonna go ahead and let Angry Birds handle the parenting for a minute

GateHouse — “The best things to kill are the monkeys. Not because they’re evil. Because they give you 5,000 points,” my son says, from the backseat, not looking up for one minute from his game of Angry Birds.

First of all, let me clarify that neither my son nor his parents advocate the killing of actual real-world monkeys, no matter how many points it gets you.

But the real world has little bearing on Angry Birds — a game that involves flinging small animals at boulders and glass in an effort to make pigs explode, which I have determined through rigorous scientific research is mostly not possible — except that it’s the one you leave when you press START. That goes double if you are 7, are in the backseat on a two-hour car ride home and you are playing while blurting out increasingly awesome non sequiturs that make no real-world sense whatsoever.

“You monkeys are MEAN!” the boy shouts, with what I can sense is nonsensical but pretty genuine monkey-centric frustration.

For two hours the little mercenary flung virtual birds at virtual hogs on the trip home, and for two hours he rambled nonstop about his game, a span of time in which my increasingly piteous attempts to listen to “music” were demolished by the sound of reckless avian devastation punctuated by the occasional gleeful shouts of “I GOT THREE STARS!” and the even more occasional disgusted grunt — which was in flagrant defiance of our list of Things That We Don’t Pitch Temper Tantrums About (Nos. 1-15,000: video games).

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iMreallysorry: The confession app for the penitent Catholic who’s also rocking some Angry Birds

GateHouse — When you are a barely functional idiot who attempts to “write humor” for a living, and by “living” I mean “occasional side deposits of nickels and/or circus peanuts that augment your salary from maintaining the slurry tubes at the poultry processing facility,” it can be sometimes impossible to come up with a decent topic. Revolution in Egypt, for instance, is a heartening story of the power of the united human condition, but it’s not terrifically funny, except for those protestors who kept stepping on rakes that would fwap up and hit them in the noses. There are times when it can be difficult to think of a topic, although generally during these times I just give my son eight or nine cups of coffee and follow him around with a voice recorder. And then there are times that the Catholic Church approves an iPhone app designed to assist with confession. Bless me Father for I have sinned, although you apparently don’t mind that much, because you TOTALLY HAVE MY BACK THIS WEEK.

To recap: An iPhone app that handles confession — although, if we’re being literally interpretive about it, which we probably should, given the circumstances, the app “prepares” you for confession, in the same way that online poker “prepares” you for Vegas. So let’s just get some things right out of the way:

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  1. “Yes, Father, I can hear you just fine, please stop asking me that.”
  2. I’m on AT&T, so I probably have a better chance of getting a decent signal in hell than on my back porch.
  3. Whoever had “Touch-screen confession before women can become priests” in the pool is a big winner this week!

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Because if you’ve ever felt confused that a life’s accumulation of sins, impure thoughts, impure memories, thoughts about impure memories and so forth could be recalibrated into math, wait until you see it done by the same device with which you tweet.

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“Weird Al” Yankovic – Confessions Part III


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