The Cake is a Lie

Everyone's favorite misanthropic organization, PETA, recently released a Cooking Mama ripoff, ostensibly to protest of the original game's inclusion of delicious, nutritious food. Since most of the dishes in Cooking Mama are traditional Japanese fare, PETA might actually be protesting Japanese culture here; the distinction is unclear. In any case, they've actually managed to improve the game a bit, and I doubt even PETA cares enough about real animals to not enjoy savagely eviscerating their respective digital avatars. While the cartoonish supervillainy inherent in PETA's typical list of suggested environmental improvements ranges from eliminating millions of jobs to displacing thousands of homeowners, I draw the line at the ham-handed inference that murdering something in a video game should make me feel the least bit guilty, (unless you count the Weighted Companion Cube.)
I suppose one could take this whole thing as a sign of our larger success as a species. The rationalization process for PETA's existence starts with the idea that humans are so well adapted for survival that we have to engage in self-sabotage just to keep our numbers down. Follow that line of thinking through to its' logical conclusion and you end up with PETA. The E in PETA is supposed to stand for Ethical, (which is as hilariously subjective as the M in FEMA,) a term that PETA has broadened to include the promotion of under-aged drinking on college campuses in an apparent effort to reduce dairy consumption. That's right, PETA hates milk enough to suggest Milwaukee's Best as a suitable replacement for enjoying your Captain Crunch. PETA's been working overtime paving the road to hell of late, but I can't imagine the "Got Beer" campaign was all that well-intentioned. I know half a dozen hot girls who can stand to drink Silk, and seem no worse for the wear. Put a beer in their hands, and suddenly they're dry humping the fridge door. Subtlety, it seems, doesn't evoke enough outrage. Like most organizations whose membership numbers less than the distinct subset "people who went to see Meet Joe Black," the disdainful public perception of PETA is eerily accurate. In an ironic twist, Shithouse Squirrels everywhere locked arms in protest.

What follows is an actual transcript of the events around 3AM, on November 7, 2008 in the Belmont Shores area of Long Beach, California, in the alley near the intersection of Ocean and Bay Shore.

The author was up late, writing, and began transcribing the events as he heard them.

*Tires spin and an engine revs. The sound is very brief, lasting less than a second.

First Male Voice: Come here.

Second Male Voice: Uhh… Are you serious?

FMV: Come down the stairs now.

SMV: Seriously? I live here man.

FMV: Come here now.

SMV: Jesus! You’re pointing a gun at me!

FMV: Come down the stairs and get on the ground now.

SMV: (emphatic) YOU. ARE. POINTING. A. GUN. AT. ME!!

FMV: Put your hands behind your head.

*Several seconds of silence follow and then..

*The unmistakable crackle of an electrical arc.

Female Voice: Oh my god, they killed him!

SMV: (Screaming, not dead but clearly in intense pain)

FMV: (speaking in a low murmur, indistinguishable)

SMV: (Still in obvious pain, through tears) I fucking live here man, I fucking live here. This is my door. Twenty Bay Shore, Apartment Nine.

*followed by roughly thirty minutes of “I live here” and several other police cars arriving. In the end nobody was arrested and they all drove away.

So I don’t know exactly what happened, but I’m guessing one of my neighbors got tazed tonight. Gosh don’t you wish you lived here.