Editor's note: I've learned the hard way to avoid any film derived from a video game. (As far as I'm concerned, Super Mario Bros. showcases the worst performances of Dennis Hopper's and Bob Hoskins' careers). Rick loathes these films as well, and he's goin' use his friendship with Hollywood to do something about it. -Jason

Hollywood and I met at a coffee shop last weekend to discuss his latest ventures in film. We'd been friends for a long time, but there comes a time in every man’s life where they have to take a stand.

This was my stand. It had to stop.

When I arrived at our meeting place, a small Starbucks across the street from a bigger Starbucks, it was empty. Anxiously, I ordered my Americano and took a seat by the window. As usual, Hollywood was late. I took the time to prepare.

Hollywood finally arrived in his typical high fashion duds: a black pin-striped suit complemented by diamond-encrusted sunglasses that cost more than I’d make in a decade. Beyond the flair, I knew Hollywood was a reasonable guy. I knew he’d listen to me.

He had to.

Hollywood sat at my table, grinning and oblivious. “Rick, it’s been a while. How ya been?”

“I’m good, man. Everything is good…. Well, aside from why I’m here.” I smiled back, not wanting to betray my intent.

Hollywood laughed -- a boisterously fake sound that startled the barista. “Let me guess. You want to be a screenwriter again? It’s not worth it, man. They’re still treated like shit.”

I shook my head. “No, Hollywood. It’s not that. Look I….” I paused, considering my approach. After a brief moment, I decided to be direct. “You’re not going to like what I’m about to say, but I think it’s better if I come right out and say it. Is that cool?”

Hollywood nodded, a look of concern crossing his immaculately plucked brow.

I took a deep breath and let it out. “Dude, if you make Mass Effect into a movie I will shoot you in the face.”

Hollywood was taken aback. “What?”

“I never mentioned this before because you’re my friend and I didn’t want you to be upset, but your video-game movies suck hard. After 20 years of breaking gamer hearts, it has to stop. I understand you run a business and you need money, but -- I’m begging you -- don’t do this.”

Hollywood straightened, his expression defensive and hostile. “Why? You’ve never had a problem with my adaptations before.”

I removed my filter. Years of repressed outrage was aching for release.  “Listen, your intentions are good, but it doesn’t work. It’s never worked. You started this shit with Super Mario Bros., and it’s been a fucking nose dive since then. Great games take their inspiration from film and art. You can’t reverse-engineer that shit. People are done playing around. If you make Mass Effect into a movie, I’ll have no choice but to buy a gun, drive down to L.A., and shoot you in the face.”

“Jesus, Rick! Calm down," Hollywood responded. "Mass Effect is going to be great, just like Prince of Persia. What’s the matter with you?”

I raised my voice. People began to stare, but I didn’t care. I had a franchise to save. “No, Hollywood! None of them have been good. Max Payne was garbage. The Street Fighter movies caused suicides in Japan. Doom was a middle finger to the face of every PC gamer, and nobody -- not even the most avid cinephile -- sat through Blood Rayne. I couldn’t take those bastardizations, but you kept going. Hitman? Dead or Alive? Fuck, man. Have you watched any of this crap?”

Hollywood was indignant. “Those movies made money!”

“Those movies made money because fans told themselves that maybe -- just maybe -- you had gotten it right for their game. But they were traumatized and cried themselves to sleep for weeks. You have raped our fondest memories worse than the writers of Lost. Stop it, man. Just. Stop.”

I flashed a gun from the inside of my jacket. Hollywood was paying attention now.

“There are Facebook groups banding together. I’m telling you: Don’t make Mass Effect into a feature film. If you do, someone out there will stop you. Better the bullet comes from me. I’ve loved you like a brother.” I held my gaze, ensuring Hollywood understood the gravity of the situation.

Emotionally exhausted, I waved him away. ”Get out of here.”

Hollywood left quickly, his face red with rage. I felt relief. Maybe I had gotten through to him. Maybe the insanity was over.

A few days later I heard about Hitman 2. In a rage I threw out the fake dollar store pistol I had used for the con and cried myself to sleep, clutching my PC copy of the original Hitman, dreaming of better days.

Instead, I had a vivid nightmare of Tom Hanks playing Marcus Fenix in Gears of War 3D -- a film by Uwe Boll.