Why can’t you men fondle us with the same patience and awe that you give when you fondle your Playstation Controller? Yes, I know it’s a PlayStation 2, a sleek black thing. No, I don’t know much about computer games or the profound impact it supposedly makes on your life. But watching a black box mesmerize you into forgetting a woman’s existence makes me feel a bit jealous. You ride a car in a virtualfuckingrace and it makes me think: don’t you wish you were riding a woman instead?
It’s the lament of women like myself who have absolutely no instinct when it comes to sassy gadgets and red/white/yellow plug-ins (“Stick the red into Audio in, the white into Video Out… Christ, it’s so simple…what’s the matter with you?”)
The sexual implications of Playstation controllers makes me want to scream. God, it’s equipped with all the Women Buttons to press, plus the vibrating mode, plus the stop, pause, and go buttons! Left and right! It even has a joystick, which we don’t have!
Apparently, Playstation can launch men into a distant, eldritch state of hypnotization, making them spend days rotting inside their rooms, marathon after marathon, till they emerge from their stupor with a cow-like gaze (read: dumb).
I am convinced that a Playstation controller is not just any ordinary controller — it is the Most Intelligent Woman, the Most High Panjandrum Priestess, The Seductress of All Mankind.
Someday, I shall reach the state of diablerie that which Playstation controllers have orgasmically achieved, and will make all men smitten by the robotic yet rather mysterious aura that surrounds me (like that yellow glowing line around the models in the bottles of Vaseline Intensive Shampoo).
And just when you fondle me, lock me in your room for days of marathon, screaming for more as you climax, I swear I will short circuit.
Because, just like a controller, I’m a woman.
