On December 9, 2008, The Wall Street Journal came out with a shocking exposé on an epidemic of violence at a well-known national chain of restaurants. That chain: Chuck E. Cheese’s. Cited as reasons for the melees, most of which occurred in the Midwest, were the animalistic impulse of “protective parenting,” “broad demographic appeal” (i.e., a combustible mix of haves and have-nots, as well as locations in “tougher areas”), and beer-guzzling adults. So bad was one fight in Flint, Mich.—it involved 80 patrons, thus qualifying as a riot—that the franchise voluntarily surrendered its liquor license, while other locations hired armed security and banned certain types of clothing popular with gang-bangers.

Thankfully, shenanigans of such severity are not commonplace at the Lynnwood Chuck E. Cheese’s, the old gray mare of a longstanding strip mall that now includes the shiny and enormous Lynnwood Convention Center. However, it’s easy to see how such an environment could turn into a tempest. The place is nonstop noise and pandemonium, packed to a claustrophobic degree with games, hyperactive ankle-biters, and mercurial parents from all walks of life. So frenetic is the environment that any couple thinking about bearing children should be required to spend an entire day soaking up Chuck E.’s mayhem. If they still want to have kids after that, they can’t say they weren’t warned.

The two things I remember most about visiting Chuck E.’s as a sapling are: (1) crappy pizza, and (2) kicking ass at Skee-Ball. The pizza is much better than I remember it being; the combo is reminiscent of vintage Round Table, chockablock with toppings and featuring cheddar melted into the usual mozzarella. But the Skee-Ball—oh, the horror!

Back in the day, Chuck E.’s featured as many Skee-Ball lanes as your average bowling alley, the balls were made of wood, there were no screens above the point holes, and tickets (which are ultimately redeemable for prizes) were awarded based on how high or low one’s score was. Today there are but four Skee-Ball lanes, the balls are rubber, the point holes are encased in steel cages (thus preventing particularly powerful tosses), and every kid gets rewarded with four tickets, regardless of score.

That’s communism, people. No wonder folks are driven to fisticuffs.