Miscommunication is the cornerstone of any dysfunctional gamer relationship

It took days of smooth-talking to settle things down after my girlfriend thought I called her mother a Nazi, when in fact I was just playing an intense game of Day of Defeat. So, needless to say, once the weekend rolled around and things had cooled off, I was jonesin’ to get back into the game.

There I was, crouched behind some underbrush, the weight of my BAR heavy in my hand. Before me was the last bridge through Schwetzingen, having miraculously escaped allied shelling. And beyond its rusty frame stood a grim line of old brick homes, their faces shorn free from the bombing. Some stood almost in tact, others were little more than rubble. But each ruined building was a maze of erect walls and open windows. And somewhere in that debris lurked Der Wulfe, the sniper that had terrorized our attempts to push across.

“Honey, could you take out the trash?” my girlfriend called out from the kitchen.

“Oh yes,” I replied. “It’s time to take out the trash.

I swung the barrel of my gun slowly over to peer through the upraised struts of the bridge and at a likely hiding spot nestled between a broken wall and an overturned armoire. Was that where I’d seen the muzzle flash?

“I’m serious, my mom is almost here. You gotta take the garbage out.”

“Take … him … out…” I whispered, slowly shifting my mouse to peer inside a darkened window. Could he have gotten up there?

“We’ve gotta clean house,” she said.

“Oh yeah,” I replied. “We’re gonna clean house. Soon as we take out the trash, werd.”

What was that? Protruding from the rubble? The barrel of a gun? Yes … yes, and behind it, the top of a German helmet, almost indistinguishable from the shapeless gray pile of debris. DER WULFE.

“This is gonna be fun,” my girl called to me from the other room as I leveled my BAR and squeezed the trigger. Bullets shattered the tranquility, and bricks exploded under a hail of gunfire. I saw the barrel of his gun sweep up into the air, then a flash of gray uniform as he took off running. “I really miss my mother, don’t you?”

“I missed that little bitch!” I cried out.


Victim Pic Small

“Will you STOP playing that GAME and TAKE OUT THE TRASH?” she asked. “Well, which is it gonna be?” I answered.


Score: 8.72; Total Votes: 1820 as of 2009-12-09.


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