You ask, am I a collector? Why yes, I am, the greatest in fact. But I must humble myself, I am merely a collector of stories, of the greatest tale to have taken place in the great land of gaming.
Allow me to entreat you with the greatest tale of struggle and triumph.
I had owned a stick and two rocks I desperately attempted to make fire with each day, but could not, as there was no second stick, the second rock was an aimless addition to the collection and served no purpose, especially when attempting to create fire with a rock and stick. The second rock was to be disregarded as unnecessary.
A second stick was required, and I had attempted to scrape my single stick against my Apple II with no luck, the plastic did not ignite the bristly fibers of the stick, nor did the friction of the rubbing action provide enough heat to even cause smoking to emanate from the stick.
I considered applying the end of the stick to my Genesis' broken 32X attachment while booting it up, but feared that the results would prove too dangerous to effectively control. I resorted to melting the circuitry on my Commodore 64 by placing it in a microwave, unfortunately, this served absolutely no purpose and after the deed was done I was in a perplexed state of thought as I could not divine my erstwhile intent.
It was then that I considered the brevity of my situation as something that transcended beyond the mere want of fire, indeed, it was a struggle of survival. A struggle that could only be overcome with the liberal application of smoke and flames. Thus, in anticipation of coming hardships, I made due with my Nintendo 64 and proceeded to utilize its circuitry from which the controllers would be plugged in by inserting the stick into an open end, once I had removed the cap from the plug.
This was a futile attempted, no flame was created, and my stick had been shaped into something sharp and unsightly, a creation that evoked bubbling tremors of violent intent, my anger was crawling forth from its nefarious lair in the recesses of my now broken psyche. If the lack of fire did not lend itself to the release of my earthly state, then it would be the utter madness that awaited my darkened soul if I fell into the smothering pit of immeasurable fury.
I came upon the resting carcass of a broken Playstation 2 as I gathered my weakened being with a crawling wake in the freezing desert of carpet that itched the flesh of my knees. This Playstation 2 had died so long ago, very long ago, and nearby lay a hibernating Playstation 1. I was wary of these creatures, I was afraid, though one was dead, the other was alive and most likely in a less agreeable mood, as it seemed to be that it had developed a strong connection with the dead Playstation 2. However long ago the Playstation 2 might have found itself on the last tenuous string of life, the Playstation 1 never had allowed itself to let go of the Playstation 2, a sad tale that would have brought me to tears if it was not for the dire nature of the situation. I slowly removed myself from the Playstation 1 and its long lost partner, leave dangerous beasts to their sorrow.
Unfortunatly this encounter had only driven the necessity of fire further into my mind as a goal that would not borrow its utilization with eased generosity. I took to the land of the great PC and its wise advisor, the X-Box 360. There I would find the answer to the question of fire, there I would find salvation in the evasive embers of a burning slip of timber.
As I made my way over the great mountain of bean bags and endured the sifting sands of the eternal carpet, I nearly lost myself in inner misery. The goal was near, but I felt no more strength in my own will, I felt no desire to continue, I felt as though the journey was devoid of purpose. If the fire was to save me, what would it save me for? For my continued existence in this blasted land? For my sorrowful and contained interactions with the soulless and caustic inhabitants of this great world. No.
No.
NO.
I was not to be driven under and suffocated by the loathsome blistered slabs of gluttonous blubber that fell like a waterfall of misanthropy from the thick fat fingers of this world's uncompromising hatred of humanity. I was not to be another victim, to be hung, to be mutilated, to be stabbed and flayed by the taunting memories of pain in the land of the great and terrible Intellivision.
And there, there I had come to the realization. The denial that had run through my mind all these years. Misery! Suffering! The agony of being! This vapid mockery of a world had been an extension of my own foolishness! I had brought the Intellivision into power, I had given him the means, the tools, the hatred. I had fueled the flames of his ever smoldering hatred for mankind.
I had plugged in the cord.
I had given him LIFE.
And now, and now... he hung over the wretched creatures of the land with a black hole in his eyes swallowing up all, his shadow a confluence of suffering and anguish that spread itself over all corners of the earth.
Over all corners of my mind.
And of my heart.
I had given him this power, and lying in the burning inferno of the Carpet Desert I had found the will to survive, to survive so that I may destroy that which drains the will from all others. I knew that I must find the means to create fire, to create the one thing that the Intellivision despised the most. The fabled fire of the dreaded Atari 2600.
I traveled with renewed passion and renewed purpose. I came upon the land of the PC and the all-knowing X-Box 360, and upon an ocher pedestal of the hardiest wood they sat, gazing listlessly upon the foul sarcasm of a world that laughed at its own misery without end. And I asked them.
"Where is the flame, that of the dreaded Atari 2600".
The X-Box 360 raised its head, and from its visage there was a single eye with a halo of blinding green light surrounding it, forming an almost surreal image that spoke the one true word, the resounding echo of Power. And he spoke.
"The fire of the Atari 2600 is not to be wielded by any mere being of flesh, you find yourself in a precarious situation. You find yourself in the unknowing grasp of a hideous and repulsive evil, that which you have let loose upon the world long before this moment."
"I realize this."
"And you realize that even though he cannot find you, he cannot see you, and he cannot know that you are even still amongst the living, that he shall always possess the omnipotent power to become aware of the flame of the Atari 2600's existence?"
"I realize this."
"He shall know, though he has not know before, and he will find you, and from his form shall come the greatest and most terrible claw of unbridled fury. That fury you will come to know as the puss bleeding from his black heart as he froths and boils at the audacity of your attempts to end his putrescent existence."
"I... I realize this."
"He shall show no mercy, he will take your frail and insignificant body, and upon your human shell he shall inflict the horrible pain of a thousand tortures. He shall tear you apart, body and soul. He will make certain that you suffer in unimaginable agony for the remainder of your pathetic existence."
I did not respond.
"But... that is only if you do not exceed, only if you do not find victory."
I stood silent, I had not changed my mind, nor had I any apprehension or hesitation, I knew what had to be done, but I felt the weight of this responsibility upon me. Failure would not only come with my suffering, but the continued misery of those that I had striven to save from my own terrible creation.
And then the PC awoke, a shuddering, immense, skull crushing hum came forth from his impressive shape. The sound came upon me as the voices of a thousand beings, of a thousand life forms that spoke in whispers through the wandering consciousness of the PC.
It awoke, and it spoke to me.
"Then, what is your decision."
"I shall do it."
And from his imposing titanic chest came forth his disc-drive, and upon it lay the blinding light of the Atari 2600's eternal flame, the most beautiful, and the most dreaded.
It shone and I felt I would be blinded by its pure brilliance, a spectrum of impossible colors fell from its rays, burning and caressing all that they touched, wafting across the surface of my flesh with graceful light.
And the PC reached out with his monitor cable and grasped the Atari 2600 and its impossible flame. He reached out, and as I reached out...
...I touched the hand of a god.
Fifteen hours later, as I traveled back across the wasted expanse of nothing, I did not see the bleak destruction of the world, instead I saw the endless potential, the new life that could be given to this irradiated rock if I succeeded, if I managed to destroy the Intellivision and his vile mechanization of evil.
I came to a great valley, brown peaks of bedding reaching over the shadows of the dirt like vicious and scheming ancient men. At the foot of the valley stood a small figure, but I could not help but feel a strange prick of reverence at the sight. It was an NES, an almost extinct race of creatures that had found themselves driven mad by the cruel power of the Intellivision.
He stood there, pathetic and crooked and as I passed him his small and weary eyes met mine.
"Do not fail."
Eventually, I found myself near a massive pit, an abyssal drop that never ended, swallowed by blackness, devoured by evil, and harboring the most wretched of all wretched things it lay as a gargantuan cancer upon the land.
From the depths, from the depths of this horrible pit came the most awful. It came, and my bones fell to ash within my body as my flesh melted into a bubbling tremulous wrapping of pure fear. It was horrible.
It was horrible. It was the worst thing one could have rested their eyes upon in the entirety of a thousand cosmos! Beyond the most terrible phantasmagoria of horror, beyond the most twisted and corrupt taint of the mind, it held no superior in its utterly loathsome, vile, puss-filled, gangrenous, fetid, blasted appearance.
"An insignificant mite of shit finds itself before me! An insect. Tell me, little pathetic thing, what grand story do you tell before you are condemned to an eternity of torment?"
I swallowed the bile traveling forth from the back of my sore and burning throat.
"The story of a man and his creation, his terrible shame, and how he came to destroy his greatest accomplishment."
The horrible thing clacked its "fingers" and a gurgling cackle of pure vileness came forth from somewhere down in the abyssal chasm.
"Wonderful gems of tales! Wonderful things to say before you relinquish your will to the tormenting embrace of pain. Tell me! Tell me ye filth!"
"This is not a story to be told, it is a story to be finished, and now it shall end, welcome to the misery you have created Intellivision!"
"YOU!" he wailed with explosive force, shattering my eardrums and sending blood pouring forth from my eyes, my knees grew weak, my arms felt as though black sharp fingers were tearing at my joints with murderous nails.
I felt a black thing flowing from the chasm, some unimaginable spawn of the great evil's intent, his pure hatred personified, so terrible I could not allow the image to enter my mind for the risk that it could utterly shatter my soul.
I knew I had to act fast, I drew forth the Atari 2600 and its great flame and from that moment came...
...whiteness, pure whiteness. No sound, no images, the most pure of all colors, the lack of any. It blinded, it seared, but in that bathing glow of pure divinity there was no feeling, the air drawn from my lungs, the blood from my veins.
I floated in the whiteness for an eternity.
And came upon me it was, that the stick, the stick and the two rocks, formed an image before me in that whiteness. The stick had a flame, the rocks rotated about the flame in a dance of perfect symmetry... and I remember... the image of Power.
I awoke, sore, in agony and with an aggravating thudding in my head. But it did not matter. Looking into what a few moments ago had been the most evil lair of madness, I saw the NES and I saw it free of its cloak, free of its sorrow and weariness.
"An NES?"
Said he.
"No, call me SNES."
I had restored these poor creatures to their original greatness. The blasted land grew green and my eyes rested without the begging necessity of flame.
You see, dear listener, I am merely a collector of stories, and these are my humble "objects". These things, the Playstation 1, the Playstation 2, the X-Box 360, the PC, the Commodore 64, the Nintendo 64, and even the terrible Intellivision, all of them, are "mine", my own little memories of the greatest story ever told.
