My father had been fired from his job, and my step-mother had found alternate employment in a city about an hour away. I would spend the next month car-pooling across the state to school each morning, and spend my afternoon hours with my uncle. Eventually, we moved into our new house; a two-story brickstone in the middle of a town barely large enough to accommodate the single traffic light in its center square. I stuck out in this mostly rural community. I was a shy boy and making friends didn't come naturally to me. This was the turning point for me as a gamer. I became somewhat more reclusive, relying on my computer and Super Nintendo to keep me company after school.

My father had since gained employment as a computer technician, a job which, at the time, was mostly reserved for specially trained professionals. I was, of course, somewhat of daddy's boy. I would spend my Saturdays hanging out with my dad at the shop. I gained unlimited access to the latest PC games, and the salesmen used me as a marketing tool to show how simple it was to use MS-DOS 6.0.

One evening after school, I was watching the news with my parents. Through the speakers said the words "Maniac Mansion". My interest was immediately peaked. There was a sequel coming to stores, and it took everything I could to contain myself. I giggled at the sight of the Bernard, my favorite character from the previous game, and immediately begged my father for a copy.

Fortunately, my birthday was coming up soon, and I whittled my parents down until they bought me a copy as an early present. That weekend we made the long trek to the mall, where, upon arrival, I sprinted to Babbage's and snagged the green and purple triangular box. Maniac Mansion: Day of the Tentacle was printed over a panicked Bernard running from the maniacal purple tentacle. I clutched the box in excitement. Of course, it would be hours before I could actually play—the family had to meander around the shopping center while I nearly died from impatience. This was the first CD-ROM game I had ever owned, and nothing was going to stop me from enjoying it as soon as humanly possible.

My anticipation was well worth it. I loaded the CD into a caddy and slid it into the drive. After a little bit of DOS prompt magic I was greeted with the LucasArts logo. The following scene was quaint enough: A blue sky and a babbling brook. A brown bird happily flies by, only to be smogged out of the sky by noxious fumes from a polluted waste dump flooding the stream. At the time, I was more than a little amused by this slapstick, and once I saw Purple and Green tentacle walk up to the waste dump my jaw nearly hit the floor. They were walking to me. I had never heard a game utter more than a few gimmicky phrases. Never had I heard a game speak as a storytelling tool. Then again, I was equally amused when Purple drank some sludge, sprouted some nubby arms and announced his plot to take over the world.

Bernard had since befriended Green from the original Maniac Mansion, and news would shortly reach the anti-thesis of nerdom. Dr. Edison had captured both Purple and Green, and in an attempt to stop Purple's plan, plotted to euthanize the odd pair. Bernard and his two roommates (Hoagie and Laverne) rushed to the tentacles aid, though things would go wrong for them, as things always do. Bernard was unaware of Purple's conspiracy, and inadvertently allowed him to escape to resume his conquest.

Dr. Edison of course demanded the trio's aid in undoing what they had started. The three were to be sent back in time to stop purple from ever drinking the mutagenic slime. Dr. Edison strapped the three into his experimental time toilets, the “Chron-o-Johns.” This was ultimately the selling point of the game for me. Potty humor was, and is still, quite entertaining to me, and the idea of traveling through time and space on a crapper was too much to handle. Failure was on the agenda for the team, as the artificial diamond used in the machine shattered mid-transport. The three would be sent randomly through the swirling dark-purple ether of space time. Hoagie ended up lost 200 years in the past, Laverne 200 years in the future (and stuck in a tree), and Bernard was returned to the present.

I would spend a good portion of the next month working toward solving this game after school and on weekends. Swapping items through the waste receptacles of the toilets and the multistory timeline continuity made for a unique play mechanic that continuously made the game both refreshing and fun. I was amused to see historical figures set in a comedic light, Thomas Jefferson neurotically petting a log, George Washington the egotist built small in stature, and Betty Ross toiling away on the first American flag (and loathing every moment of it). Of course the mummy was there every step of the way, and would even later defeat George Washington's cross-dressing descendant in a beauty contest. The quirky humor was oozing out of every facet of the game. The attention to detail was so elaborate that you could even play the first title on a PC in the game itself. The most appreciated feature was the philosophy on punishment. While the original Maniac Mansion allowed for extreme screw-ups to be met with the ultimate demise of a character, later titles took a detour. LucasArts adopted a strict policy of not punishing players for exploration. As a child, I wasn't too thrilled about dying in the first place.

As with all good things, the exploding cigars and chattering teeth would come to an end. I still have my copy of Day of the Tentacle in a black CD holder on a bookshelf in my bedroom. It has become a little worn over the years, having been the source of more than a few sibling rivalries with my baby sister. Day of the Tentacle is regarded as one of the, if not the best adventure games ever made, and I certainly agree to this effect. It has been one of the first and will continue to be the game I pick up when I want to feel nostalgic about my childhood.