Today is Pacman’s 30th birthday. Like most men turning thirty or pushing thirty, Pacman is probably having some mixed feelings about his Age/Station-in-Life Ratio. Pacman is probably thinking to himself, “Jesus. When I was 18, I thought by now I’d have it together. But here I am, stuck performing the same menial tasks every day. I never go anywhere new. I hate my acquaintances so much that I do my best to avoid any contact. I don’t even want to discuss why no one ever sees me and the Mrs. together. And, let’s be honest, I have a pellet addiction. Fuck my life. Wasn’t I going to write The Great American Novel? Is this the best it’s going to get?”
But, buck up, Pakkumanshi! Your life has not been in vain! You’ve brought smiles to millions of people. You’re one of three video games on display in the Smithsonian - and do you really think anyone is lining up to play Pong or fucking Dragon’s Lair? Hells no! They want to see you, Pacman! They like you! They REALLY like you!
As for myself, there is only one thing that I want to do if I have the right combination of intoxicants in my system - guide you through a maze full of treacherous starving ghosts, assisting you in satiating your seemingly insatiable appetite, and collecting various fruits. Sometimes I steer you in the wrong direction, I know. But redemption and reconciliation are usually just 25 measly cents away. Pacman - I love your guts.
As a tribute to the Man Himself on his B-Day, here are some delightful alternative renderings of the hungry yellow dude we know and love.
Bon anniversaire, mon frer!