Everything I need to know about Minecraft I learned from eavesdropping.

My boys (40-something and 11) have been sucked into Minecraft.

My writing nook is situated in such a way that I get to hear their conversations as I facebook twitter play plants vs. zombies work on my next novel.

Some overheard snippets of their conversations:

Preston: “Why don’t I have anything?”

Joe: “You have to punch a tree.  That starts your industry.”


Preston: “This is a nice house.”

Joe: “It’s just a room.  With a trunk.  And a duck.”

Preston: “I made that duck.”

Joe: “It’s a nice duck.”

(5 minutes later.)

Joe: “ACK!”

Preston: “What?”

Joe: “The duck pushed me into the lava!”

I'd sleep with one eye open if I were you...


Preston: “Look at me.  Now look at Joe.  Now look at me.  I’m on a pig.”


Joe: “Why do you have a bed on the very edge like that?!?”

Preston: “I live on the edge!”

Joe: “Well, don’t wake up on the wrong side of the bed.”


Preston: “Oh no, the pig is here!!!”

The pig knows what you did...


Preston: “Did you find lava today?”

Joe: “Yes.”

Preston: “Lucky.  I found lava the other day, but there was a chicken…”  (quiet angsty mumbling)  “…stupid chicken.”


P’s friend C: “Where are you?”

Preston: “In my treehouse.”

P’s friend C: “Cool.  That’s a big tree.  Be careful!  That jockey skeleton can totally get into your house.”


Preston: “I’m going to blow this lava up.”

Joe: “Why?”

Preston: “To see if it makes it go away.”

(30 seconds later)




So basically, Minecraft is a game in which you can ride around on nefarious pigs, punch trees to get stuff, skeletons are short guys that ride racehorses that can climb trees, and birds are a-holes who will push you into lava.  (Much like in real life I might add.  Birds are evil, y’all.)

And then there’s this:

This house is not a home...

G4 is totally going to hire me to be a stand-in for Morgan Webb now.  After all we’re both brunette, totally hot, and geeky.  Well, two out of three ain’t bad.

On the telly…

Actual television listing:
“7PM CST Channel 41: Drug Kingpin Hippos”

Are you freaking kidding me?  Hippos?  That are Colombian drug lords?  Count. Me. In.

"Say hello to my little friend."

But first, a couple of questions…

How are the hippos getting their drugs in the country?

I’m picturing them being in cahoots with those freaking birds you see riding around on their backs.  The birds probably fly the drugs in undetected (because birds have most of you guys fooled about their innocence), then they swoop down, land on the hippos’ backs and make the trade.

Birds. Always up to no good.

How are the hippos actually selling the drugs?

There would have to be a hippo whispering drug dealer out there that they sell to.  A Cesar Milan/Tony Montana type of guy.  Or maybe they just barter with the lemurs.  That would explain a lot.

Lemurs coming for their fix.

What do the hippos do with their cash from selling the drugs?

I can only imagine that this is the reason those ridiculous Hummer limos exist.  They are driving around town full of Drug Kingpin Hippos.


Seven o’clock will not get here fast enough, y’all.  I can’t wait to have all these questions answered.  But quite frankly, I’m surprised the hippos allowed the cameras into their compound to film the documentary.  Drug kingpins are usually pretty wary of reporters I suppose.