Sorry Mom, I Could Only Get You A Mad Catz Pacemaker

Sometimes we have to settle for less, Mom. I wanted to get you the brand-name, top-of-the-line, no-buttons-broken and joystick-working-perfectly-one, but unfortunately, insurance will only pay for a Mad Catz pacemaker.

I know, I know. It looks weird. There are a ton of buttons on there that don’t really do anything, and at least three switches that might activate the turbo mode in your heart and turn you into a human hummingbird, instantly putting you into cardiac arrest. I get that, and I feel for you. However, someone else in the hospital already took all of the good pacemakers, and we didn’t want to shell out for a brand new one, so you’re stuck with this weirdly translucent one.

It doesn’t mean I love you any less—some people might even think that this pacemaker looks way cooler than a normal one. It’s sort of glittery and you can see the internal components. That’s sort of neat. Of course, it’s just far enough from a normal pacemaker that it kind of triggers a fight-or-flight response, sort of like a pacemaker version of the uncanny valley.

Dad got the Mad Catz artificial lung and he’s doing great. Nevermind that it rumbles sometimes for absolutely no reason—that’s more a bonus feature than a bug. Dammit, why is your chest glowing blue? I think you hit the light button. I need to punch you in the stomach like four times to reset it. Don’t flex your abs.

Anyway, I really wanted to get you something better. I really did, but sadly, you’ll just have to make do. Just like I made do in tenth grade when Josh challenged me to a Smash Bros tournament but my weirdly stiff joystick made me lose but no one believed me and then Josh took Miranda to the semiformal.

Love you, Mom. See you in hell.

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