Video Games Killed
the Child Star
by Clarissa Coleman 

I can’t wait to be a video game.

Didn’t you hear already? I know most of you, I heard “web-literate” is the nice way to say it, are all about video games. So I figure most of you know. In case you didn’t, I’m on my way to being a video game!

It’s not for my outstanding columning, or for my world-famous role in Who’s Your Daddy? Not even for my movies. I’m being rewarded long-lasting video game fame thanks to my part in the Metallichick comic book.

At long last, some lasting legacy for Clarissa Coleman! I don’t have to worry about being locked into the ‘80s because of my stupid TV roles or movie appearances. I’ll be timeless, like Ms. Pac-Man. Of course, it’s just called Metallichick, but by the time I get done telling everybody it won’t be a mystery who provides that unmistakable image for Metallichick, as well as the voice.

It took some convincing, I had to pull some strings with Nat Herschel, the creator of Metallichick, but I convinced him it was good for all involved if I did the voice for Metallichick, too. I told him I knew the character inside and out, I had devoted a lot of work to developing her personality—how she arched her back, why she stuck her ass out so far when holding her sword, all kinds of stuff. I even told him I came up with a backstory of how she keeps her costume in place, like they evolved past duct tape in the future she lives in. Of course, I didn’t, but you got to be smooth with these creative types to get future work.

I got to go out to this studio in New Jersey and record the video game character’s voice, and it takes a whole shitload of time. I’ve done DVD commentaries before and even did some voice work, once in a while. None of it compares to all the video game voice work. Apparently these characters talk a whole fucking lot. They open a box and just say what they found, all sorts of dumb stuff. No one does that in the real world. Well, my dad does, but no one else. Every video game shouldn’t be about my dad.

I try to inject some realism here and there, but these video game directors are harder than real ones. Here’s a pop quiz: You get shot with a laser blast or chopped with a sword, which are you more likely to say? “Aaarrgh!” (extra stress on the ‘g’), or “Fuck, dude!” If you said the second one, give up on a career doing video game voices. They would not have it. And apparently it’s more fashionable when you’re slaying baddies to shout, “Let my sword guide you to hell!” instead of, “Boo-yah, bitch! Hope you got Medicare!”

Which is why I tried to tell them about my idea for a video game. This whole “sword and sci-fi” crap is okay, but you’re just giving folks what they already have tons of. Comic book video games have seen their day. Celebrity video games are the way of the future. I know if I wanted to have real fun I would rather live a day in my life than some sorceress with a broadsword.

We could do all kinds of crazy shit. I wake up, can’t find the cereal, it’s like a little adventure until I remember I poured it over my mashed potatoes the night before and it’s in the living room. My agent phones and I have to hear about his glory days when he used to manage Liza Minnelli, and I try to get him off the phone before my boredom level kills me. Ramrod Hurley calls and tells me the commune needs its column by 5 and I have to whip out some bullshit in ten minutes or risk losing that fat paycheck and primo exposure.

Too real, that’s what the video game dorks told me. The world isn’t ready for reality yet. I suppose I’d have to agree. Some days I can’t even handle it.

Killer Coleman
I hit the first cat on the way to work Monday. I was late for a few photographs for that comic book I’m on the cover of, Metallichick. And this ain’t even a talking gig, it’s not like they couldn’t find some hot skank hanging out on the stoop and get her to fill in.

Crammed in the Closet
So it turns out my sister’s gay. Quite a big bomb-dropping, for a regular family, I guess. If you ask me it’s just a ninth-inning attempt to reinvent herself like a third-rate Madonna, or a 1970s David Bowie.

The Good Books
Now, I know what you’re thinking, but comic books aren’t for kids anymore. They’re way too expensive. The only kids who could afford comic books now are complete rich kid pricks.

Change for a Single
First was my sister, proving once again she’s the dull blade in the family toolbox. The guy was some lawyer from her law firm, and *yawn* what a bore he was. All he could talk about was money.