There’s no comic today.  Why?  Because clan PXC spent the weekend playing Call of Duty when we should have been working on it.  (I’m using the royal “we” here, I didn’t get Noah a script in time).

Yesterday brought with it the most humiliating round of team deathmatch that I’ve ever had.  Before going in, we heard trash talk from the other team; the usual, “I’m gonna kill all of you”, “Get ready to die”, and “fuck fuck fags fags homo fuck”.  However, there was also a cryptic, “Don’t let my level fool you” thrown in for good measure.

The round began, and we were owning it.  Noah and I were racking up the kills and the opposition was racking up death and little else.  Dogs were our friends.  We were so ready to wrap this thing up and begin trashing the other side for their pre-match hype.

Then, something happened.  All of a sudden one dude became a one man wrecking team.  As soon as I respawned he was there.  He was omnipresent.  No matter where I found myself on the map, he appeared and destroyed me.  Noah was having similar problems.

Suddenly our drastic lead began to diminish, and then it simply vanished.  When the scores were listed at the end it was obviously apparant that one man was responsible for the other side’s victory.

And then he called me a fag again.  I cried.