Duck Hunt

If you don't remember playing this, or at least watching your older sibling play it, read a different topic. Try Halo, or maybe Emo Kids. .............. Okay, they're gone. It's just us light gunners, now. Let's do this thing!

Your move, sanity.

MOM! Where'd you put my flamethrower?

Whoever you are; wherever you are; marry me and bear my children.

Just The Facts

  1. Game A (1 Duck Mode): the right choice. The AMERICAN choice.
  2. Game B (2 Duck Mode): what are you thinking? You're gonna die in like two levels.
  3. Game C (Clay Shooting): your hatred for fun is matched only by your ennui for life.

The Ducks

There are three colors of ducks: black (easy), blue (medium), red (hard), and each is a metaphor for a different stage in your life.

The black duck is childhood. Things are going well. Pizza parties abound. Your mind isn't doing much darting back and forth. Hell, let's face it--you didn't start thinking deeply about things until WELL after you grew 4-inch armpit hair. And yet, you might still be the black duck to this very, hairy day. If so, you will be one of the first, blissfully unaware individuals to be gunned down when Cheney goes full cyborg.

It may be advisable to begin fleeing...nowwwww-ish...

When you become a blue duck, you have realized that there are harmful psychopaths present in the world, but have not yet accepted the gruesome truth that all their schemings end in your (and most of humanity's) duct-taped, writhing demise. "Somebody will catch them", you tell yourself, or maybe "their sex dungeon will reach max occupancy before they take someone like me", or perhaps even "this raven's beak keychain the gypsies sold me will ward off all such psychodom". But something about you isn't sure, and that nagging doubt makes you fly a little faster...a little less predictably...a little nervously.

Not so mighty now, huh duck?!

Becoming a red duck is quite a feat indeed, and requires years of dedicated crazy. We're talking Busey riding the opium dragon to downtown Fraggle Rock. Pants-less. There is no middle-ground twixt blue and red duck because, much as your grade-school English papers indicated (damn you, Mrs. Ferguson!), red means you're doing something wrong. Or at least, wrong in a non-zombie-apocalypse type scenario. Which, as the courts have explained to many a red duck, is most scenarios. But reason has no power over a true red duck. Their skittish dance can be mitigated by horse tranquilizers or leg shackles, but good luck trying to administer either.


Besides for the cruel fact that you can't actually BEAT Duck Hunt (unless you count its patronizing "Good!!" every 10 levels as beating the game), they felt it necessary to include an anthropomorphic dog who laughs at you when you miss a duck. Shoot at him though you did, he was impervious to your bullets and your hate. Countless curse-word virginities were claimed by this terminator-Cerberus demoralizing demon-dog.

Many men still hear his haunting, digital chortle in their minds every time they ask a woman out and are unceremoniously denied, or try to fix something mechanical and end up breaking it further; any sort of pride-injuring failure will do it.

There's no need to post a picture of the dog. That would only add to this sadistic, rage-inducing nostalgia. Instead, the force must have balance. There is only one thing capable of achieving such equilibrium.


Tell me that didn't make you the least bit covetous. Go on; tell me, so I can call you a major league liar.

The Sister

As I'm sure many younger sisters may have noticed, it was an exercise in complete futility to try prying the zapper out of your brother's sweaty, pixel pistoleering hand of duck devastation. Somehow, perhaps as subconscious penance for ever coding that wretched dog into being, the programmers were thoughtful enough to foresee and combat such a situation, by giving the sister a way of playing:

Using the 2nd control pad, you could BE THE DUCK, which was pretty freakin sweet, and usually discovered by total accident. This let sis feel like she was a part of the picture, and let you keep on duckin'.

Unless you had two sisters, enabling the absolutely indefensible "tandem-tattle-attack"

The Epiphany

YOU remember. You remember when your frustrations were finally vindicated, either through your own cunning discovery or your fat friend at school's excited, in-between-gummy-bear-handfuls revelation: ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS HOLD THE GUN UP AGAINST THE SCREEN, AND YOU CAN SHOOT THOSE FLYING BASTARDS POINT-BLANK!

Nothing could possibly ruin this monumental moment! Nothing.