I love the Final Fantasy series. I always have. I love the storylines, the gameplay, the graphics, the music... they are just damn good games. So I was pretty excited when a friend gave me FF8 as a gift last week.

"Hey, John," said Gina as she pulled a box from her purse.

"What's up?"

"I was just cleaning out my mom's shop and I found this. She said you could have it if you want it. It's Final Fantas-"

Jumping from the couch, I spun around behind her and caught her in the small of the back with my alluminum baseball bat. Her body arched in pain, and she let out a piercing scream as she slumped to the floor in a quivering heap. Quickly, I snatched up the game and sprinted to my computer. Pulling out the installation disc, I opened the CD tray and placed it inside. I could tell right away that the installation was going to take a while, so I left the computer to properly thank Gina for the gift. I grabbed my brass knuckles on the way out of the office.

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She was on all fours when I re-entered the living room, and she looked as if she might actually make it to her feet without any help. Tentatively, I watched as she tried to regain her composure and balance as she crawled across the carpet. Inch by painful inch, she brought herself more upright, and with little more than a foot to go, I made my move. I caught her flush across the jaw with my left hand... not enough to knock her back down, but just enough to stun her so I could have a clear shot with my fist full of brass. She let out a low-pitched "Uhhgg!" as I cracked her full-force with my right hand, sending her back down to the floor in a twisted, contorted mass. I knew that if I were to thank her in a way that she would forever remember, I would have to act fast while she was disabled. Quickly, I turned and snatched my five-foot cactus plant by the flower pot and raised it high above my head. I brought it down flat across her back, and the needles buried themselves in her flesh, firmly holding the plant in place. When I pulled it off of her, she screamed in agony as the cactus ripped from her body like velcro, slinging blood across my walls and ceiling like a modern art masterpiece.

Suddenly, the front door shot open and my wife rushed inside. She had been grocery shopping, and Gina's screams had prompted her to rush into the house.

"What the Hell are you doing?!" she yelled as she dropped a grocery sack on the floor.

"I'm thanking Gina for a gift she got me," I replied.

"Honey, that's not thanking. That is Beating the crap out of her. We talked about this last week. Thanking is when you show your appreciation to someone who has done something nice for you. Beating the crap out of them is when you inflict harm and pain on them like you're doing now."

"So you're saying I shouldn't thank her for this lovely gift?"

"No, I think you should thank her, but-"

I popped Gina several more times in her ear.

"No, no, no," Carrie yelled. "Don't kick her ass. Just say thank you. Tell her that you appreciate her kindness and accept the gift graciously. Without punching her in the face."

I looked down at Gina's quivering body. Without punching her in the face, I thought. That sure is an odd way of thanking someone. So thanking involves words, not fists.

"Fuck you, you fucking whore," I screamed at her. "It's a good thing you gave me that game, or I would've killed you right here in my goddamn living room! You think you're better than me!? You think you're-"

"John," interrupted Carrie. "Thank you. Not fuck you. There's a difference."

"But what about that thing I saw on TV where that one guy-"

"That was the Rodney King beating, and those police officers weren't thanking him. The were beating him senseless. And speaking of that, I wish you wouldn't show the video tapes of the riots to our sons anymore. There's nothing funny about people hitting other people with bricks and setting stores on fire."

"But Jason really seems to like it."

"Jason is two years old, John. He thinks crayons are funny. Now please pick up Gina and apologize to her."

"Do I have to? What if I just run away instead?"

"No, John. Apologize to her now."

Grabbing Gina by the throat, I pulled her up off of the floor and planted a size twelve apology right on her crotch. She slumped over and made a sickening gurgle sound and dropped back down to the carpet. Good, I thought. She accepts.

"Just go in the other room and play your game. I'll take care of Gina," Carrie scowled.

Part 2