She liked farming...
...he preferred stabbing things in the neck.
It should start out with something hi-falutin', waxing poetic about Muses and heady vapors and the shifting of the Universe on an axis greased with platonic love-drippings and whatnot:
"At its best, the playing of games is a participatory artform, often mistaken for child's play in the same way that haute couture is mistaken for clothing and cuisine is mistaken for dinner.
Those who design games are Artists of the Highest Order; the fruits of their labor are nothing less than divine magic in their ability to transport and transform the human soul.
When it all goes right, of course...
When it goes wrong it's like a pyroclastic shard of Hell lodged in your skull, searing the flesh of dreams into ragged, scarred curtains of smoking meat."
But I dunno. I kinda ran out of steam after that. Where do we go from here? Remember, posterity awaits your answer.
My site's home page has a kind of gaming manifesto: