<![CDATA[If I had my druthers*, here's what I'd do.

I'd hire Kevin Spacey and the production crew behind House of Cards to shoot a public service announcement.

It would look something like this.


*druthers, by the way, is shorthand for “if any of my creative projects go massively huge and I suddenly have the means to be financially independent,” which itself is bourgie shorthand for, “if I win the lottery.”






Frank and several senators are sitting around a conference room table, sharing drinks, leather-bound portfolios and random paperwork scattered about.

frank underwood conference room


           SENATOR #1

I think the viability of this bill is going to hinge on one or two major issues.


Goodness, Paul, you’re drinking my liquor, there’s no need to be coy.

            SENATOR #2

It’s land use. If there’s no development happening, my hands are tied.


Well there are federal guidelines surrounding how forests are treated, and if any national park land is in play—

                                       RANDOM SEVEN-YEAR-OLD

Oh yeah, that sounds, awesome!

Into the room swarm a host of early grade-school-aged children, wearing backpacks, neon bracelets, and brightly-festooned sneakers with LED lights. Quickly, they surround Frank and his compatriots. 

                                                          ANOTHER RANDOM EIGHT-YEAR-OLD

Yeah dude, I LOVE parks. But only if they have swings.

                                                          NEXT RANDOM KID (nodding vigorously)

Parks are a MUST. Especially now, but then oh hey maybe you should–

A child on a razor scooter bumps into the table, knocking over a bottle of whisky.

    SENATOR #3

Dammit Frank, what the hell is this?

Amidst the chaos, Underwood deliberately stands up, and looks directly into the camera.


Annoying, isn’t it?

As he walks toward the door, the camera begins to slowly pull away. A long TRACKING SHOT follows Frank as he walks out of the conference room and down the hallway.


Here we are, engaging in a thoroughly grown-up activity. I’m trying to keep these two gentlemen at the table without the use of escort services, and you, bless your heart, all you want to do is enjoy your favorite, Emmy-winning TV show. And they’re both ruined by the presence of these little… miracles. And sure, you probably laughed when that kid knocked over the Glenlivet, unless you’re as much of an alcoholic as these guys, in which case you F-bombed to keep from weeping like Jesus himself channeling Bill Clinton, but that’s neither heah nor theah.


By this point, Frank has strolled off the office set and onto his living room set, coming to rest in front of his television.


Point is, that’s the kind of experience that we have, me and the legion of God-fearing, law-abiding citizens on Xbox Live or the PlayStation Network, when you let your rugrats infect the competition lobbies for perfectly good titles that are rated M-for-Mature for a reason. It escapes my capacity for reasoning that parents who would nevah under any circumstances allow their children to play with real firearms have no qualms about virtual ones.

And let me be cleah, lest anyone try to paint this little soliloquy as the sanctimonious bluster of a professional politician, this plea for common sense is not, I repeat, not about the children. I abandoned hope long ago for the parenting skills of anyone who would not only BUY one of these games for their little ones but also allow them to play on the internet, unsupervised.

On the contrary, this is about ME and MY FRIENDS, who despite wielding ungodly amounts of power, are unable to roam the contours of our digital hangout without running into your sniveling spawn every time we go to load out.


Frank rises, and turns, yelling to no one in particular:


Now who do I have to kill to get my internet back?





So yeah, I would love to bankroll that PSA.

This issue has bothered me for awhile, but it was sitting tonight, and literally hearing the sound of some kid crying through my headset, not crying simply because we were losing (losing at Call of Duty sucks, I’ll admit, and it can be a very demoralizing experience) but crying because he was upset that another player had his same gun, that was the final straw.

Listen to Frank, people!

I work with other people’s children during my day job. I shouldn’t have to do it after hours, too. You wouldn’t like it if you stopped by your favorite bar to hang out after work and a bunch of grade school age kids ran in and started knocking stuff over, right?

Please don’t let them ruin my favorite hangout.]]>

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