I'm dozing on the couch when upraised voices from the computer room rouse me.
"I was already dismembering him, Jake!"
What the heck? I think abstractedly.
"He was getting away!"
"No he wasn't!"
"You weren't doing it right! Look how high the damage was on the body."
"It doesn't matter!" Tom's voice snarls. "I was already dismemembering him!"
"Yes, but--" The quarrel fades back to indecipherable volume.
I spend a few moments pondering the borderline insanity that videogames add to daily conversation. I can recall numerous conversations in which I raptly discussed weapons preferences, kill methods, the comparative merits of good versus evil, farming techniques, space flight, city management, and, on one conspicuous occasion, how I kept my various wives happy.
Discussing a character in a Pokémon game, my brother once asked me, "Don't you hate when Mom uses your money to buy you random stuff?"
"When do I do that?" my mother burst out, flabbergasted.
If asked yesterday what sort of odds would I have laid on the likelihood of my overhearing a heated argument over dismemberment?
I consider the surplus of teenage boys that routinely descend upon the household like locusts. Uncomfortably high.
I decide to go back to sleep.