Dad, I know you’re not going to like this, but I’ve decided I can’t let you play the new upcoming Doom video game. I’ve seen the trailer… and it’s horrifying. I don’t care if you hate me, that’s just the way it’s gonna be.
What kind of son would I be if I let my father play a video game this violent? I have to draw the line somewhere and that line is at Doom. A game where you brutally snap the heads off demons, then rip open their chest with a double-barreled shotgun, causing them to explode in a liquidy cloud of flesh and blood. It’s just not a suitable game for someone your age to play.
Well, I don’t care if everyone else at your office is allowed to play Doom. I can’t control what kind of games they have in the break room or what you do at your buddy’s house. But when we’re under the same roof, I can’t stand by as you play a video game where hellbred monsters can tear off your limbs and beat you to death, all from a terrifying first-person perspective.
Listen, I’ve grown up in the age of the internet where you’re always a couple clicks away from an image so shocking that you are never the same after you see it. But even I was completely horrified during Bethesda’s E3 press conference when they showed a clip of a chain saw slowly chugging through demon flesh, spitting chunks left and right, and leaving the body split in two halves from head to toe. I’m not going to let a video game ruin my dad like the world’s been ruined for me.
No, no, you don’t even understand. That’s not even the worst scene in the demo they showed and it was only the first level. I tried to imagine how the violence must heighten as the game progresses and I felt physically ill for an hour. I would be a bad son if I let you play this game. NO ONE should play this game, especially my middle-aged, Pearl Jam-listening Dad. Heck, I’m not going to allow myself to play it.
Yes, I know you’re a fan of the original Doom, but I can’t stress just how quaint that game looks now. I just don’t think you’re ready to jump into the new “Doom” at this point in your life, when you’re supposed to be driving me to Little League practice, not tearing open a creature’s skull with your bare hands for entertainment.
I want to be clear that there will be no compromises on this. No, you can’t play the new Doom even if you let me go to the house party where you know there will be no parents and drinking. I’m disappointed you would even suggest that. You should know better.