DISCLAIMER: My girlfriend would be upset if she knew I was calling myself single for the sake of a lame title. Oh, and looking for Donkey Ladies, even if I promised it was only to help perpetuate the master race, which is Donkey People. I'm not saying Hitler had the right idea, but if his idea involved less murder and more sweet, sweet love to all the Donkey People, I think we'd all be happily speaking German and sporting little Charlie Chaplin mustaches.

THING YOU CAME HERE TO READ: You ever see something in a game so ridiculous that you wish you had a video of it so that people would believe you weren't making it all up, as you tend to do, since you're a dirty liar? Like that Donkey Lady video from Red Dead Redemption. I've had several of those experiences and have lived almost every time to tell you the tale. Totally wish I had videos, because a video is worth not having to type a thousand words. I don't have videos, though, and nothing you say will ever change that so you might as well never say anything ever again, please.

Being a manly man, I played The Sims a lot, once upon a time. The way I played it was more of a passive observer, though. I would manipulate things here and there once in a while if I felt it was needed or would produce interesting results, but mostly I just sat back and let the Sims do their things. Through this method of play I was able to witness an old man scream gibberish obscenities at his lawn flamingo and a son eat the very hamburger his father had just peed on. I always used different characters in different places. A single mom in a single-room shit-hole, a gay couple living in a hedge maze, and a family of eight living next to a wall with a toilet attached to it were all subjects of my voyeuristic, torture-tastic amusement. My favorite, however, was a young bachelor living in a beautiful mansion. One simple reason: He had OCD.

I don't know how I managed to give this particular Sim OCD, as that wasn't my goal at all, but it happened. The game started off simply enough. I used a cheat to give my Sim more money than he could ever need and built him a beautiful mansion to live in and the first thing he did was head for the bathroom to wash his hands. Fair enough, I thought. He doesn't want to soil his new possessions with his grubby meat fingers.

He wandered around for a while longer, gawking at things and spewing gibberish and, I believe, making sex at the pinball machine. Then it was off to the kitchen for a delicious meal of potato chips! First, though, being the prudent son of a bitch that he was, he washed his hands. Only then was he truly ready to gorge himself on potato chips for a good in-game hour. Upon satisfying his hunger, he washed his hands again. Well, yeah, have to get that chip grease off your fingers. Then it was off to the library to read a- oh, no, need to make a pit-stop in the bathroom first.

Once inside the bathroom, the first stop was at the sink to wash his hands. With his newly clean hands, he then continued onto the library and sat down with a book. 20 in-game minutes in, and he was already up and heading back to the bathroom. After washing his hands yet again, he sat down on the toilet and I watched him poop, because that's what any omnipotent god would do. He gave the toilet a flush and then hopped into the shower. Upon emerging from the shower, he washed his hands, then went to bed.

The next morning came quickly, because I demanded it! This is where the story takes a turn for the mega-exciting! He got up and went to the bathroom to wash his hands! Then it was outside to stomp on roaches with his bare feet for about an in-game hour before finally heading back in and washing his hands again. You'll never guess what happened next! He washed his hands again. And again. And again. And again! Once he finally got all the skin off his hands, he decided now was a good time to set fire to the kitchen. Nobody really knows what happened to the young man after that, but it's been said that if you were to go to the vacant lot and stand where the kitchen used to be, you can still smell the fire mixed with a vague hint of lemon. Close your eyes, and you can hear the sounds of water running and... hands being scrubbed...

SECOND STORY, PLEASE: Now, that was fun and all, but you know what's more fun than clean hands? Violent, explosiony death! So it's off to San Andreas we go to take a luxurious country-side bicycle tour. But you don't have to give your left nut to go on this tour. You just have to give me your time as I tell you a tale so epic that your left nut will rocket off your body and probably ricochet off an old lady's head or something, I don't know, I'm too unfunny to care that my jokes suck.

C.J. was like you, once. Young, black, able to leap over vehicles and small houses with his bicycle. Just an average homeboy enjoying the wind in his flat-top and the rush of adrenaline as he accidentally bicycled off a cliff every 20 minutes. One day, however, things were different. Deadlier. Differeadlier.

C.J. was riding his bike towards a local farm when he received a call on his mobile talking device unit, which he promptly answered with mouth words. Nobody knows or cares what the conversation was about, because suddenly a freaking plane came careening out of the sky and crashed into a nearby barn! C.J. was so astonished by what had happened that I went retarded and slammed him into a parked truck and then laughed about it because I am a true analog friend.

It was an exciting time, to be sure, but C.J. had to get back to work. The country-side wasn't going to explore itself via man-powered vehicle, and if it was, it certainly wasn't going to tell me about it. It was about 30 minutes since the end of the Great Plane-Barn Wars. C.J. had just received another call on his portable long-distance communication object and everyone was HOLY CRAP ANOTHER PLANE! This time the wing slammed into C.J.'s face, knocking him off the bike, before it slammed into the ground, slid off the side of a cliff and gracefully landed upside-down and full-force into the water below.

What was going on here? C.J. was determined to not find out or care at all, so the following day he went right back to work doing whatever the hell the story of San Andreas is supposed to be. It was 11:30 a.m. probably and C.J. had just left his favorite establishment, the large-ass Ammunation store on that one street in that one city somewhere, shut up, it's not important. Walking down the street, as he was wont to do, he received yet another call on his talky box. For dramatic effect, I turned the camera so that he was walking towards me as he talked.

In a surprising twist that will have you thinking you're watching an M. Night Shyamalan movie, except good instead of swirling pig vomit, the largest plane yet swooped in for the kill. It's target: the very same Ammunation store C.J. had just come out of. Since the buildings in San Andreas are made of frigging adamantium or something, the plane's futile attempt was cut short as it fell straight down onto the packed city street below. Explosions rocked your world all sexy like as fire ripped through the city streets and people screamed in terror and agony. The cars near the plane exploded, which caused a chain reaction of exploding cars to roar down the street, flinging charred corpses left and right.

It was delicious, and the icing on the cake was that C.J. was still walking away from all the explosions and chaos without looking back, like the bad motherfucker I signed up to abuse and humiliate to the end. It was epic as hell. If only I had a video...

I DON'T SEE THE POINT: My point is that these kind of crazy-ass emergent experiences, whether they come from bugs in the code or were simply side-effects of a complex set of rules interacting in a way nobody could have anticipated, are some of the best moments I've had in the way-too-many hours spent playing video games. I would hate for the insatiable desire to provide intensely polished products that often try to mimick the real-world as much as possible to overwhelm and possibly brutally murder the idea that the real fun of any sandbox (or doll house) game can come from not just the player's ability to do the unpredictable, but from the game itself thrusting the unpredictable onto the player. The Donkey Lady is all the proof I need that my vapid, meaningless point is true and you can't ever take that away from me!