Saturday night. Two guys. Two girls. And Bond. James Bond.

I don't mean the movie. I really, really wish I did mean the movie.

Unfortunately, my friend and I fell victim to a Notre Dame man's best friend: Goldeneye, the Nintendo 64 game.

No one initially intended to crowd around a television screen to watch a video game. But, as the boys grew tiresome with our "girl" entertainment (LFO, of course), they threatened revenge by means of their own amusement. As the N64 sprang to life, the guys became suddenly entranced in Bond's struggle to hunt out his foes and conquer some bunker-type structure.

This, however, is not what I saw.

I watched a little man with a gun, supposedly the "acclaimed" Bond, (although he looked more like an awkward conglomeration of digital shapes) run aimlessly in circles, desperately shooting at anything that didn't resemble the listless gray background of digital rocks and stone. After finishing the level, the Bond figure proceeded to bungee jump off a cliff. I inquired as to how jumping off a cliff related to the game. The boys, however, failed to supply anything that even resembled a satisfactory response.

So now it was two guys, two girls, Bond and random occurrences of extreme sports.

I shook my head and retreated to my boy bands.

Eventually, after suffering through what seemed to be the exact same level 15 times, the boys finally overcame the attraction of Bond. Of course, its spell was only able to be broken provided that they had first earned all of their "cheats." (Though I was left thoroughly confused at the time, I believe "cheats" are one of the main objectives of such games. They consist of secret levels and modes hidden to the normal player. And though personally I question their importance, I do know a boy who spent three days straight, "missing class and all," to attain these "cheats," so, appearently, they must have some meaning.) The video game remained on, however, despite the fact that no one was actually still playing. I think this is because they were afraid of suffering from withdrawal.

Sitting on the couch, watching the cast of characters flash upon the television screen, I casually mentioned Pierce Brosnan's good looks. One of the guys immediately matched my comment, citing the girl currently on the screen. I glanced upwards and noticed only a digital character.

"Her? She's not real. She can't be attractive," I explained.

"Yeah, she is. And, you said he was hot," he retorted.

"But Pierce Brosnan is an actual person."

"So?"

I could only formulate one conclusion: guys spend so much time playing these video games, they can no longer distinguish the real from the digital.

Nintendo should invest in creating a Notre Dame video game; blow up North Quad, topple Stonehenge and dodge fellow students in South Dining Hall.

Girls will cringe. Boys will rejoice. And eventually, with the best times and the right "cheats," the "hot" digital chick will bungee jump off of the Dome.

• Give Bond a break