The great philosophical question of our time? Not "why are here?" or "what is the ultimate good?". Nope:

Are video games art?

Yes, this is what people are wasting reams and reams of Internet arguing over. Heck, we're not even sure video games are games, but whatever. It became important to someone at some point that our geeky little hobby be given the acknowledgement heretofore reserved for fat naked chicks, Jesus, and sculptures of men using the bathroom (you're not fooling anyone, Rodin).

The latest entry in the argument? Bioshock, a game in which the player discovers a lost, abandoned city under the sea. The creator/mayor/demagogue of this shooting gallery, er, metropolis is one Andrew Ryan — a sort of uber-Ayn Rand whose drive for industry and individualism is played against the actual repetitive, thoughtless nature of gaming itself.

See? Deep. On the other hand:

"...it is revealed to the player that he is actually Andrew Ryan's illegitimate son. Ryan had sexual intercourse with a young female stripper resulting in her pregnancy... [then later a smuggler] paid a high-ranking employee of his to purchase the embryo. [A scientist] then accelerated [the player character's] growth, and made him vulnerable to several mental techniques."

Whaaaaa?

We don't know if games are art or not. Frankly, we don't care. But that is pure narrative dreck and we're talking about one of the good plots. And it's not even the dumbest reveal in the game:

It turns out Andrew Ryan is Jewish. With a name like that?

Puh. Lease.