The iPhone game Drop 7 has its hooks on Ariane Sherine, author of The Atheist’s Guide To Christmas, as well as an article in the UK’s Guardian about portable gaming… addiction? Fixation?

When an acquaintance met me off the train and asked what I’d like to do before dinner, I lied and said: “Have a sleep” – aware that saying “play a computer game on my phone” would sound weird and antisocial.

He duly left me in my bedroom, where I proceeded to manoeuvre numbers around a bleeping screen. Each time I started a game, I promised myself it would be the last; each time, I broke my promise.

During dinner, in a break between courses, I did the unforgiveable: I began playing the game under the table. Seconds later, I was discovered. “I’m sorry our conversation isn’t interesting enough for you!” my host snapped, only to be met with an eloquent “Mmph?”

Drop 7 is pretty tough to stop playing. Best of luck to Sherine for quitting it, but I doubt it’ll be easy, not when you can take it with you.

I’m trapped in the drop zone [The Guardian]

Contactmusic.com, quoting unnamed sources (but inevitably stripping out the “likes” and “so he’s/she’s all”) says Hudgens gave her squeeze a “stash of video games” for Christmas, and since then he’s been curled up on the couch with something other than her. All right, let’s go to the hearsay!

“Vanessa has hardly seen him. He talks more to his friends online while blasting away at aliens or whatever, than to her. Vanessa has even tried joining in but her boredom threshold is a lot shorter than Zac’s. She’s on the verge of saying, ‘It’s either me or the X-Box [sic].”

Best part? Efron gave Hudgens three trees for her birthday two weeks earlier. That makes it kind of tough for him to argue this. “Baby, what, I can’t play a game when I come home? I mean goddamn, I work hard all day to buy you that … tree.”

You’ll recall last month it was tennis star Andy Murray allegedly getting the boot over playing Modern Warfare 2 for seven-hour stretches on his PS3. Do I smell a trend? No, three instances would be a trend. In celebrity gossip, two is just a fad.

Zac Efron – Vanessa Hudgens’ Zac Game Row [Contactmusic via HBG]

“I hate sports games,” Kristen says with a weary laugh, reminding me for about the fifth time this Thursday night “I had to ask someone what a sack was. They said it’s when you tackle the quarterback. I said, ‘Which one is the quarterback?’”

Only in name are Kristen and I playing Madden NFL Arcade. Instead we are “boosting,” – throwing games to each other, more or less, to rack up multiplayer achievements. I’ve already gotten 50 points the easy way. Now it’s her turn.

It is a substantial part of how Kristen, whose last name I’m withholding out of concern for her privacy, has become, according to one leading compilation, the No. 4 ranking woman, worldwide, in Gamerscore. Her tag is CRU x360a – go ahead, look it up. Kristen – CRU or Crubie to some online – is a 24-year-old stay-at-home mum in northwest Indiana. You call her extremely motivated. You can call her obsessed. You can also call her an achievement whore, like she hasn’t heard that from every piss-ant with a 5,000 gamerscore in the underground zone.

Bottom line, she’s is really effective at piling up her gamerscore. But she’s not sure when, or if, she will stop.

A Race to the Top

“It was a friendly race at the time,” Kristen says of the beginning, three years ago, when she got serious about her Gamerscore. “It was to 20,000. My buddy was at 15,000 and I was at 13, I was 2,000 behind him. I said, ‘OK, this might take years.’

Kristen had bought an Xbox 360 in early 2007 and, like most, it wasn’t because it offered achievements. She was a multiplayer gamer on a few titles she enjoyed – shooters mostly. Then she joined a Gamerscore league. And then she got into this side bet.

“Once I found sites that had guides on which were the easy games, I beat (20,000) in like a month and a half,” she says. “It got me hooked and it was like a drug. A bad drug. A bad habit.”

Soon enough Kristen managed to fall in with some elite players in the achievement grinding world. One, named Smrnov, who is the global No. 10 on MyGamerCard, praises Kristen’s team-spirited achievement hunting. “CRU was unselfish in the help she offered our team, and has always been reliable for getting the game time in, which is a very hard trait to find for spanning so many different games, versus a single one,” he says.

Stallion83, the global No. 2, played with Kristen in those early days, and was most recently her boosting partner on Damnation – a terribly received game. (“We managed to have fun talking about The Leprechaun movies,” he says. “Party chat has made some of these games less painful.”)

“She was just a nice person,” Stallion83 recalls,”like one of the dudes. Most girls cause drama and try to get attention. I didn’t see that with CRU.” Both he and Smrnov heap praise on Kristen’s FPS skill. “A great FPS player,” says Smrnov. “In addition, she’s very good about figuring out the best strategy for completing a game quickly and doing all associated research. She has both gaming skills and gamerscore skills.”

But that doesn’t keep Kristen from going after the kids’ stuff, too. Last week, Spongebob: Truth or Square put her over 165,000. It’s a cute detail but it barely scratches the surface of Kristen’s performance over the past three years. Nor does the four-game Gamefly subscription, in constant rotation. That’s to be expected. And the shelf full of games, many of them years old and still waiting to be played, well, what would you consider impressive? A hundred and sixty?

She bought Jumper: Griffin’s Story – one of the worst reviewed games ever in Xbox 360 history. The day Modern Warfare 2 was released, she spent all her time on Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. American Idol? She put the microphone in front of a speaker and played songs into it to ace the performances that much faster. It didn’t work for Sing It: High School Musical or Hannah Montana, so, she had to belt those out herself.

“They’re easy enough songs; It’s not bad, there’s no one looking at me while I’m playing it,” Kristen says, “but my friends (on Xbox Live) see it, and all the guys can’t believe I’m playing that game.”

Remember that deal a few months back, when a someone tried to round up a 1,000 players to log in to NBA Live 07 and get the 100 gamerscore achievement for 1,000 players being online at the same time? Kristen was a part of that, with two versions of the game, one she had to go out and find for $US3 at a game store, and the other playing on her Japanese 360.

Yes, she has an NTSC: J console. Kristen got that to play BioShock’s Korean version, which has a separate achievement list. She’s gotten 1,000 gamerscore in 50 Cent: Blood on the Sand. She’s gotten 1,000 gamerscore in 50 Cent: Blood on the Sand in Japanese. “I haven’t even opened the Saint’s Row 2 Japanese version, or the Saint’s Row 1 for that matter,” Kristen says. She’s eyeballing a PAL console, but even an Arcade will be close to $US300 with shipping and, “Do I really need to play BioShock again?”

Some of the region-locked Japanese games she plays are bought by pooling money with Stallion83, Smrnov and others in the ultra-gamerscore crowd, and the group then trades the discs around by mail. One game, Clannad, was picked for its low-hanging fruit. It’s a “visual novel,” sometimes called a dating sim, but as the choices are all text-based the gameplay should be pretty easy, right?

“It’s a text game, and you have to choose A or B, you only have these text options,” Kristen said. “But I’m sitting there on Google Translate trying to translate these strategy guides and match up (Japanese) characters to make my choices. And I’m thinking ‘Why the hell did I buy a Japanese Xbox and this game, this is just retarded.’ It’s so embarrassing trying to match characters to a language I don’t even know. I’ve spent $US400 on a game I can’t even read.”

It makes me wonder. These are called games. And technically, she’s playing them. But is this even fun? Is this ever fun?

“I definitely play more games I don’t enjoy than games I do,” she says. “Like, maybe 65 percent of the games I play I don’t enjoy.”

Kristen’s husband doesn’t even know why she sticks with it, if something like CSI: Hard Evidence is so unfulfilling for her to play.

“Sometimes I’ll be playing, and he’ll ask, ‘Did I have to buy that or did someone else buy it?’” Kristen says. “And I’m like, ‘Do you want the truth or do you want me to lie to you?’ And he walks away, saying ‘I can’t believe you’re playing that.’ To me that’s more embarrassing than playing Disney: Sing It.”

A Mother’s Work

Kristen is careful to remind me that she does have a life outside of gaming. “I’m an avid paintball player; I have my own gun, although that’s also another expensive hobby,” she says. “But yeah, I’d much rather go out to a bar, go bowling, play darts or pool than sit at home and boost games all night. I’m still young.”

She’s also the mother of a six-year-old girl. You can do the math there, it means Kristen became a mum at age 18. Before then, she was a rather typical kid, if a little tomboyish, and absolutely delighted by video games. Kristen says she’s played them since she was five. When she lived with her parents, new games and new consoles were common, especially around the holidays. When she had her daughter and moved out of the home, her original Xbox and her beloved NES – which she still has even though it won’t work – stayed behind. The Xbox 360 she bought a little more than three years ago marked her re-entry to games since having her daughter.

Sometimes mother and daughter play – Spongebob was one such example. But Kristen had to load up one of the five other gamertags she keeps on the console for family and friends to play. Boosting games might sound out of bounds to some gamers, but it’s entirely within the ultra-gamerscore ethos. What isn’t, however, is having anyone get an achievement for you. Even your six-year-old girl.

“She climbed up and said, ‘Let me play,’ so I said, ‘Just a second,’ and put her up with another (gamertag) and let her play,” Kristen says. “Sometimes she’ll say ‘Look, mum, I got an achievement too!’ She gets excited.”

This isn’t something Kristen wants to encourage. “I don’t want her to get addicted like I am though,” Kristen says. “She doesn’t really see me play too much, actually.”

Her husband, Jeff, doesn’t game much at all himself. He owns a towing business that provides a comfortable lifestyle and accommodates both his interests and Kristen’s gaming. He’s rather mellow about all the time she spends with games, if not the money, and keeps both in perspective. Some guys have wives who spend a ton of money on clothes, or dislike spending as much time around the house as she does.

“I have some hobbies myself that are fairly pricey and I can’t really blame her for that,” Jeff says. “However, occasionally a string of new games will come out within a two day span and magically a few hundred dollars will be missing from the bank account. With as much time as she has allotted for video games and the kid I can account for her whereabouts at any given moment so I’m certain that she isn’t cheating on me.”

Even pressed for a ballpark estimate, Kristen doesn’t know how much her obsession with Gamerscore has cost in the preceding three years. “My pro system is $US250, my Japanese console cost $US400, the hard drive I put on it was $US50 – I don’t want to see the number, and I’m sure Jeff doesn’t want to see it,” she says. “But I think it would be cool to know.”

There’s another number about which she seems even less enthusiastic, though. And that’s the next big milestone for her gamerscore.

Calling It a Career

Two hundred thousand. According to MyGamerCard, only one other woman has a total that high (with a second very close to reaching it.) And yet when Kristen brings it up, it’s with a tone of voice that ponders what she will do then. It’s almost like she doesn’t want to get there, for what it will force her to consider.

The simplest answer is by far easier said than done: Just quit. “I keep saying when I get 200,000 gamerscore, I’m going to retire,” Kristen says. “There are people who do that. I say it now, but I don’t think you can ever actually quit. It’s like a drug. It is addicting.”

And she uses that word often enough that I figure I should bring up the subject. Carefully. I would never say video game addiction isn’t real, knowing that real people do indeed battle it. I also believe it’s a topic given to alarmism. And I’m not a psychiatrist, so it’s not my place to go diagnosing other people’s behaviour. But I ask Kristen anyway. Maybe, has she ever considered talking to someone about her gaming?

“I wouldn’t say I need to talk to someone,” Kristen says after considering the question for a long moment. “I’m not hurting someone by doing this. My family life is not being hurt. Granted, it’s like an addiction, but I’m not hurting anyone. Well, I’m getting little sleep sometimes, but that’s on me.

“Besides, I saw where someone had gone to be treated at a rehab centre for video games, and it was something like $US30,000 a year, and I thought, ‘Do you know how many Xboxes and games I could buy with this?’” she says, without a trace of irony. “I don’t think so.”

When Kristen is most at ease with her gamerscore is when it describes how she’s good at something. How she’s figured out a way to beat the system; or how she’s actually put in the time to get the “General” achievement in Call of Duty 3 – getting 40,000 points in ranked matches – to collect a rare 100+ gamerscore achievement.

“It’s very much a personal pride thing, being ranked in the top five in the world in something, whether it’s gaming or the fact I’m a female gamer,” Kristen says. “I’m never going to be in the Olympics, so I’ll be a great gamer. It’s something I know I’m good at.”

But I hope when she breaks 200,000 she can put the controller down. She spent the first three years of her adulthood being a mum. I suggest to Kristen that, maybe, she’s spent the last three in front of a console, trying to get some of that lost time back.

Kristen ponders this, and seems to agree. “Maybe,” she says.

Maybe then she can call it even.

The split between Murray and Kim Sears was confirmed Sunday when Sears didn’t show up to watch Murray play n the ATP Tour Finals. The unverifiable information that video games — particularly an unnamed tennis game and Modern Warfare 2 — were to blame comes from Murray’s former coach, Brad Gilbert, and “sources close to Sears.”

Here’s what the Telegraph has to say:

Brad Gilbert, Murray’s former coach, has said in the past that Murray spends “seven hours a day” playing video games. The source told The Sun: “He would spend all his time glued to them. In the end she just got fed up with it. She wanted more out of the relationship.”

Strangely, the story seems to have vanished from The Sun’s website.

Either way, if that’s the real reason they split — move over, girl. I’m sure there are plenty of PS3-owning ladies in the UK ready to take your place.

Andy Murray and Kim Sears split over ’seven-hour-a-day PlayStation 3 addiction’ [Telegraph via BigPond GameArena]

During the course of my tenure at Kotaku I’ve referenced my days in EverQuest on many occasions, but I’ve never elaborated on what went down back then. Recent events in my life have brought that period to the fore, and I’ve decided to share my experience with our readers.

In November of 2000, my life was going well. I had a lovely girlfriend, a serviceable vehicle, and a job that paid more than enough for me to survive while catering to my increasingly expensive video game habit. Within four months, it would all be gone.

At the time I was sharing an apartment with a friend of mine named Dustin. Dustin was a great guy, but he spent his entire downtime sitting in front of his computer, playing a video game called EverQuest. I had encountered the game before, having participated in the beta for Sony Online Entertainment’s massively popular multiplayer game, but once the game went live I lost interest. I just couldn’t see myself paying a monthly fee just to play a computer game. Oh, how things have changed.

Having nothing much else to do at the time, I’d sit and watch Dustin play. He’d explain what his Monk character was doing in the game. I was a spectator as he progressed, learning to feign death, earning new weapons, and taking on greater challenges as he got closer and closer to the level cap.

So when I wasn’t spending time with my girlfriend, Emily, I would watch Dustin play. Or I would tool around on various text-based MUSHes and MOOs online, role-playing with people all over the world. I’d been into science fiction, fantasy, and comic books since I was very young, so slipping into an imaginary world came easy to me. Perhaps a little too easy.

Towards the end of 2000, Emily and I broke up. The reasoning behind this is far too stupid to delve into… let’s just say we were both young and a bit foolish.

I became depressed, and Dustin had just the thing to cheer me up.

The Scars of Velious expansion for EverQuest came out in December of 2000. My roommate, perhaps tired of my moping over my lost love, picked up a copy of the game for me as a Christmas present. I installed it, created a half-elven Bard, and soon our apartment had two guys in the living room at all hours of the day, faces bathed in the glow of monitors.

Within a week, the game that hadn’t affected me at all nearly two years previously had become an important part of my life. Soon, it would become my life.

If I wasn’t asleep or at work, I was playing EverQuest. The former was becoming a rarity. I would go into work, and I would still hear the sounds of EverQuest orcs in my head. All I had to do was close my eyes and I was speeding through the Greater Faydark zone, killing pixies and turning in quest items.

In January of 2001, a man with a tow truck came to my place of employment and took my car away. I had fallen behind on payments without realising it, and Nissan had decided they wanted my Sentra back. My first thought as I watched the tow truck drive away was how many hours walking to and from work would take from my EverQuest time.

I worked at a company called FranchiseOpportunities.com, maintaining and creating websites, but increasingly my time there was spent either communicating with my EverQuest friends or browsing websites for tips on the best equipment and techniques for grinding experience points and gold. It was impossible for my co-workers not to notice. In February of 2001, Joseph Lunsford, the owner of the company, called me into his office.

“It wasn’t an easy decision,” Lunsford told me this month when I went to see him and talk to him about the person I used to be. “You were was amazingly bright. I was convinced there wasn’t anything you couldn’t do. You showed so much promise, but your interest in work just fell off. Projects started taking longer to get done, and it was obvious your head wasn’t in it. You left me no choice.”

I was in tears back then. I felt unbelievably pathetic. I had no car. I had no job. Joe had handed me my last paycheck and about $US120 he had in his wallet, and sent me on my way. I took a taxi home, broke the news to my roommates (we had moved into a three-bedroom to split the bills three ways), went into my bedroom, started up EverQuest, and forgot about everything.

According to Dr. Hilarie Cash, the executive director of the reSTART internet and gaming addition recovery program and co-author of the book “Video Games & Your Kids: How Parents Stay in Control,” retreating inside a video game to avoid real world problems is a common cause of “video game addiction.”

“I would definitely call it video game addiction, which is a subset of internet addiction. Many of the things [you] described to me are typical of a video game addict, particularly the way that real life shrinks away for the addict, living more and more in the virtual world.”

And that’s exactly what I was doing. I had been a confident and outgoing young man who enjoyed hanging out with my friends, spending hours chatting about absolutely nothing while smoking cigarettes and drinking countless cups of Waffle House Coffee. Now my social dealings involved helping online friends camp a rare monster spawn, or discussing class balance on my guild’s chat channel.

Going outside was only necessary when I ran out of smokes or beverages. I lived off $.30 pot pies from Wal-Mart and cheap bags of rice. I was taking care of my most essential needs, but only barely. Often times I would fall asleep in my chair in front of my computer with EverQuest running, waking up hours later to start the cycle all over again.

Even now my memories of the period are a blur of Oasis runs, power leveling, and experience grinding. My mother remembers those days much more vividly.

“Mike was unavailable for most of that period,” she recalled recently. “There was no way to contact him, except to do a ‘drive by’ preferably with a bag of groceries in the back seat. I remember trying to talk to him. Such a fine mind and wild sense of humour; all covered up and hidden deep inside again. He listened half-heartedly and was easy to anger. He was going down fast, even to the point of telling how it really was and not just what you wanted to hear.”

Hearing her talk about it now, I can barely believe it had gotten so bad, but I tend to hold on to positive memories more than the negative ones. Like the day Emily came back.

It was three months after I was fired that Emily decided to give us another chance. I wasn’t the same man she had been with before. I was relatively skinny, and my hair had grown ridiculously long. As we lay curled up in bed one evening she commented on how my belly had disappeared, which tickled me to no end. It seems perverse to me now. It wasn’t as if I had been dieting or exercising; I was taking pride in my own malnourishment.

My existence slowly started gaining some semblance of a real life again. Emily went out one afternoon and brought me a stack of job applications, which motivated me to go out, get my hair cut, and go to my first job interview at a Fast Signs down the street. Looking slightly more human and feeling more alive than I had in months, I got the job on the spot. It was amazing how fast things had turned around. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t last.

In an odd twist, my EverQuest friends were now worried about me.

I hadn’t been around, and they missed my sense of humour and my enthusiasm. My ability to twist four Bard songs at a time didn’t hurt either. These people needed me. I was important to them, and I couldn’t let them down. Looking back, I can’t believe I missed the irony there.

So I started playing EverQuest again. At first it was only on the nights that Emily couldn’t make it over, but soon I was back to my regular play schedule – every waking hour. I was regularly late to work, and called in sick at least once every two weeks so I could stay home and play.

Then came that fateful night.

The woman I had once told was the love of my life was sitting undressed in my bed not a foot away from my computer desk, begging me to join her, and I kept putting it off. I was so close to level 40 I could taste it. I was in the Dreadlands, kiting large enemies back and forth, killing them slowly with my Bard songs. I still remember the urgency I felt, along with the annoyance that this woman was trying to keep me from reaching my goal. Couldn’t she understand how important this was to me?

She had certainly tried.

“Back then I just figured I was dating a gamer, and that’s how it was going to be,” she said to me recently. “I hadn’t dated many guys at that point, and my older brother was the same way. He worked, came home, and played video games.”

Eight years later it became obvious that my lack of attention toward her weighed far more heavily than either of us had suspected.

One morning in late September of 2001, I called my job and quit. Whatever justification I had for this at the time doesn’t matter. The reason I quit was because I was tired of making excuses for being late, and I just wanted to play EverQuest.

Emily and I had grown further apart. During my time at Fast Signs I purchased an old car from my sister, only to discover I couldn’t get insurance for it due to my driver’s licence being suspended over a previous ticket, ironically issued for driving without insurance. Rather than actively working to fix the problem, I slipped deeper into depression. I would let Emily take the car, driving it with a “TAG APPLIED FOR” plate on the back, but wouldn’t go anywhere with her for fear of being pulled over and sent to jail. Instead, I would stay home and play EverQuest.

The last time I would see her — until 2009 —was two days after her birthday in early October. I had let her take the car to her party, but refused to go with her. She reacted by keeping my car for two days without contacting me. I responded by telling her to return the car and the keys and get out of my life. She did just that.

And I kept playing.

December rolled around again, one year after I had taken my first steps into EverQuest’s world of Norrath, and I had completely changed. I went from being a strong independent person to a gaunt, unshaven, unshowered recluse, completely withdrawn from the outside world.

My roommate, once one of my greatest friends, was threatening to throw me out of the apartment if I didn’t find a job. But I had absolutely no motivation. The only time I left my dwelling was to scavenge for food at my parents’ house, or to grab a quick shower, as our apartment’s hot water had been turned off.

I remember feeling like a ghost, drifting through the waking world unnoticed. Luckily for me, my mother was looking out for me as best she could.

“He didn’t look like Mike anymore,” she remembers now. “He was scary and pitiful. I was afraid he was suicidal or dying of some mysterious disease. It broke my heart and I knew that coming home and taking the pressure off would be the best medicine for him.”

And so on January 1st, 2002, at the age of 28, I moved back in with my parents. It wasn’t an instant cure for my addiction – as soon as I convinced them to let me order DSL I was back online again – but something had changed. I started spending more time hanging out with my parents and less time sitting in my computer chair staring at little computer people doing little computer things. I had responsibilities. I had a support system. I had a stable platform to launch myself from instead of the quicksand I felt I had been standing in before.

Within two months I had found myself a job at a local gas station. Later that year I started speaking with Joe Lunsford again, proving myself through contract work until he decided to hire me on again in 2003. So I once again had a job, a girlfriend, and eventually my own apartment, sans roommates. That’s where I was in 2006, when Brian Crecente contacted me and asked me if I wanted to write for Kotaku. That’s where I am now.

It would be easy for me to pin my problems on EverQuest, and society in general would accept it without question. I could say I fell prey to an addictive video game that nearly ruined my life, but I would know that wasn’t the case.

I hid. I ran from my problems, hiding away in a virtual fantasy world instead of confronting the issues that might have been easily resolved if I had addressed them directly. As far as I am concerned, the only thing Sony Online Entertainment is guilty of is creating a damn good hiding place. It was my responsibility to control how much I played, and the SOE spokesperson I contacted regarding my story agrees.

“EverQuest is a game,” the Sony Online rep told me. “The majority of the hundreds of thousands of subscribers play the game in moderation enjoying the gameplay as well as the community interaction the game provides. As with any form of entertainment, it is the responsibility of each individual player to monitor his or her own playing habits and prioritize his or her time as necessary. It is not our place to monitor or limit how individuals spend their free time.”

Dr. Hilarie Cash agrees as well, though she suspects that game developers are actively engaged in trying to make their games more addictive.

“Some blame can be laid at the feet of developers, making a conscious effort to make their games more addictive. It’s analogous to the tobacco industry, trying to make tobacco more addictive. It works to their benefit. That having been said, it’s up to the individual to take responsibility for how they play.”

During our conversation, Dr. Cash also likened gaming to gambling. Some people can walk into a casino, lose $US5, and call it quits. You have to know your own limits, and be conscious enough of them to know when you are in danger of going too far.

My own solution to my potential for MMO addiction is rather simple. I’ve managed to turn a habit that once interrupted my work into something I actively have to do for work. It’s no longer escapism if I am doing my job. Perhaps I am fooling myself, but if I am going to be that gullible I might as well take advantage.

As for Emily, she’s sitting behind me as I type this, playing Peggle. I’d ask her to come to bed, but I know how important getting to that next level can be.

Two paragraphs is all the China Daily puts to this topic, so I can’t give much context here. But the Chinese government will start “real-name registration” for online game players this year.

The item, in the China Daily, also notes that four online game companies had their operations suspended because they did not have “the mandatory anti-addiction system,” installed in their software.

Gaming addiction is a pretty big deal over in the People’s Republic, and last week a guy said to be gaming-addicted tried to commit suicide by swallowing saw blades. So I’m sensing a garden-variety crackdown in response to all this bad publicity.

Unfortunately, that’s all we’ve got to go on. Just two paragraphs in the China Daily. But the idea of an “anti-addiction system,” what the hell? Is that like, play for four hours, then a mandatory two hours of Guitar Praise? It’d cure me.

Online Gamers Have to Give Real Names [China Daily]