I know what you think I'm gonna complain about. The broken pots, right? The holes in my walls? The bushes that used to stand tall in my garden, and are now nothing but mulch? Well, all that stuff I was expecting. Really. People told me that if you're gonna live next to the Hero of Hyrule, you're gonna get some property damage. And hey -- it's my fault for storing my valuables in clay pots, for having weak walls that were so susceptible to bombs. For ...
For maintaining an attractive ... garden? OK, that one's confusing. But I'll let it pass.
I can't deny that he's making an absolute fortune from it.
No, the thing I truly hate about living next to Link? The guy is always asking me to housesit for him. I mean, I get it, dude -- you've got to rescue Zelda. We all love Zelda, we all sympathize. But c'mon: Your house is exactly the same as mine. It's barely even a house, man! I'm pretty sure houses aren't just single rooms with beds and pots in them. I'm almost certain that if worse came to worst and your home really did somehow get damaged while you were gone, you could replace everything in there with one single trip to Ikea.
When he's not rescuing Zelda, he's asleep. Pretty sure the guy's a depressive.
Still, I get my revenge on the jerk. In little ways. I keep a bunch of chickens in my yard, for instance. For some reason, they don't seem to like Link much. It's almost as if somebody has trained them to hate him.
My entire career has led me to this moment, the moment in which I admit that everything I know about nature is wrong.
A few years ago, we in the naturalist community noticed a rapid decline in the local amphibian population -- a decline that we couldn't link to any environmental cause. We were starting to get extremely worried that our local frogs were simply dying out, never to return. A breakthrough came when we heard that drivers were reporting an unusual amount of animals getting in their way on the road. We surveyed everyone with a car, asked them if there was one animal in particular that they were observing. And there was.
We didn't understand why, but almost every frog in the vicinity was engaged in an attempt to cross the local highway. There were no food sources over the road, no fertile breeding grounds. And yet they were hopping over there anyway. Some evolutionary instinct gone haywire? Regardless, we had to protect these creatures.
We lobbied for an overpass for the frogs to use, and after several intense debates with the town council, we won. Almost a million dollars was spent constructing a frog-only bridge to take the critters over the highway and to the other side safely. It was a great achievement for us activists.
And it didn't work.
Not even when we rebuilt the roads in shitty 3-D.
The frogs are still trying to cross the road, even after we have done everything we can to make the overpass appealing to them. We've populated the entrance with food for them, put up small barriers to guide them and even tied small leashes to some frogs and attempted to walk them across the overpass ourselves. To no success. On one particularly galling occasion, I dragged a frog halfway over the bridge before it loosed itself and then dove over the side into oncoming traffic. I was horrified.
At this point, I can only conclude that the local frog population is engaged in some insane form of the game "chicken," and that they are daring each other to try and cross the highway without getting harmed. But of course, that's insane. Clearly, I am going insane.
I have no idea what is going on in my client's head, but I think he's planning to kill me.
Avery Edison is a writer and comedian. More of her work can be found on her website.
For more examinations of video games, check out Video Game Zoology: How 5 8-Bit Characters Would Really Look and 12 Great Video Games With Ridiculous Premises.