You stumble around your cell, desperately brain storming for a scheme to get you and your bouncers out of jail before the monster party. Then it hits you! "Everyone is blaming everything on video games nowadays, so why can't we?" you think to yourself. "Okay, now here's the plan to get us out of here!" you shout to your cellmates. "I'm sure we could just claim we've gone into video game induced lunacy, and they'd let us out. Or something, ya know? We could just say we played too much Galaga, or whatever. Any of those 80's games, only real lamers played those anyways! Euh, what's wrong guys? You don't like my plan?" you ask, with a look of great stupor on your face.

"GALAGA ROOOOLS!"

You have obviously, for some unknown reason, enraged your cellmates. An angered voice from the corner grunts "NOONE BAD MOUTHS THE ALMIGHTY GALAGA!" you quiver in fear as the brute approaches you, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a plethora of space invader tattoos. It seems that you've stumbled upon the world's only street gang devoted to classic games. "Holy shit!" you shout in a plea for mercy, "Fuckin' shit, I didn't know! Did I say lamers? I meant totally cool dudes! No! NO! NOOO!" A fist plows into your face, dislodging one of your eyes from its socket. "MY EYE!" you scream, but it's muffled by the sounds of various bones breaking in your body as you are savagely beaten. You feel a fist careen into you anus, and black out. Then, you die. Sucks to be you.

GAME OVER. TIME TO HIT THE RESET BUTTON!