Duck Hunt

So, while I was off at work on Thursday evening, my partner rumages around the basement in his game room and finds an old Nintendo.

He brings it upstairs, along with a box of old games, and turns it over to the boyz. Twin five-year-olds, going on six by the way.

Next morning, caught in the "blizzard," stranded at home with the monkeys, guess who I find running through the house shooting at eachother??!!

"Stop that at once!" I yell, spitting out my rehersed diatribe of politically correct statements bored into my head for the past, say, eight years: "We don't shoot people. You can't shoot people. Not even pretend to. How can you do that when soldiers are in Iraq right now? Dying even? War is terrible. Guns are only good for shooting ducks [I had recognized the orange plastic culprit by this point]. Yes, shooting ducks when you are hungry. And there is nothing else left to eat. If you have to hunt. So stop it, right now."

A few minutes later, Twin A chases Twin B down the hall while Twin B shouts, "I'm a duck! I'm a duck!"