Clash of Clans, like the majority of online games at this point, has a chat feature. My wife and sons play the game. I don’t, but I do monitor the goings on, especially with the boys, who are 10 and 7 and in no way ready to be unchaperoned in the wilds of collaborative gaming. Case in point:
My wife logged in over lunch. One of the members of her clan, let’s call him Mike, used the chat feature to ask “Is anyone on?” Another player, Collin, responded that he was currently online. Mike, sage and worldly as he is, came back with this gem – “Collin my nigga, get off the clash and onto the poon.” Within a few minutes, another member of the clan advised Mike that “he’s 7 years old, go easy please.”
Mike was otherwise shamed by additional parents in the clan. I’m guessing he’s slinking out of the clan soon, tail tucked. I’m also guessing Mike has not yet seen his sixteenth birthday, which brings me to my first point – preteens are not the only ones who need their game chat monitored. Even if you’re not worried about what others are saying to your teen (and that’s a problem we will leave for another day), you should be concerned about the language your teen is laying on the younger population.
Point two – there IS a younger population. Kids play these games. They shouldn’t have to worry about being encouraged to get onto the poon while upgrading their gold storage. Always, always assume that things are strictly PG until proven R. There are plenty of games, plenty of communities, where R or worse is accepted. Don’t force it. Find it.
Point three – there is something utterly hilarious about the phrase “Collin my nigga,” especially when you consider the high likelihood that Collin is a bushy-haired white kid from the burbs who frequently wears Teva sandals and khaki shorts and polos to his play dates in the park. Come to think of it, that’s probably Mike, too. I love it. “Collin my nigga.” I am pretty sure that, henceforth, any time I am dispensing some jewel of wisdom, I will begin the sentence with “Collin my nigga…” Me being a middle-age white dude from the burbs who frequently wears Teva sandals, khaki shorts and polos whilst taking my kids to play dates in the park, it should prove a perfectly credible addition to my lexicon.
prodigious white fang 
Collin my nigga – A PSA
Clash of Clans, like the majority of online games at this point, has a chat feature. My wife and sons play the game. I don’t, but I do monitor the goings on, especially with the boys, who are 10 and 7 and in no way ready to be unchaperoned in the wilds of collaborative gaming. Case in point:
My wife logged in over lunch. One of the members of her clan, let’s call him Mike, used the chat feature to ask “Is anyone on?” Another player, Collin, responded that he was currently online. Mike, sage and worldly as he is, came back with this gem – “Collin my nigga, get off the clash and onto the poon.” Within a few minutes, another member of the clan advised Mike that “he’s 7 years old, go easy please.”
Mike was otherwise shamed by additional parents in the clan. I’m guessing he’s slinking out of the clan soon, tail tucked. I’m also guessing Mike has not yet seen his sixteenth birthday, which brings me to my first point – preteens are not the only ones who need their game chat monitored. Even if you’re not worried about what others are saying to your teen (and that’s a problem we will leave for another day), you should be concerned about the language your teen is laying on the younger population.
Point two – there IS a younger population. Kids play these games. They shouldn’t have to worry about being encouraged to get onto the poon while upgrading their gold storage. Always, always assume that things are strictly PG until proven R. There are plenty of games, plenty of communities, where R or worse is accepted. Don’t force it. Find it.
Point three – there is something utterly hilarious about the phrase “Collin my nigga,” especially when you consider the high likelihood that Collin is a bushy-haired white kid from the burbs who frequently wears Teva sandals and khaki shorts and polos to his play dates in the park. Come to think of it, that’s probably Mike, too. I love it. “Collin my nigga.” I am pretty sure that, henceforth, any time I am dispensing some jewel of wisdom, I will begin the sentence with “Collin my nigga…” Me being a middle-age white dude from the burbs who frequently wears Teva sandals, khaki shorts and polos whilst taking my kids to play dates in the park, it should prove a perfectly credible addition to my lexicon.
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