The XBOX diaries--The Tutor

My virtual brains are splattered across the screen. My body is in 4 different pieces. Atleast, I think so. I can’t really tell as the jumbled mass that used to represent righteousness and justice is in a bloody mass in the center of my screen. I can hear XTC ADDICT laughing away at me, bragging to the other players that it was way to easy of a kill. His chainsaw gun mocks me. My vengeance meter is running very high although there is not much I can do about it given that I no longer have a spine or legs. Thus continues my Gears of War legacy.

Apparently, I am one of those players that people like to play against to get the easy practice to hone their skills. I am roadkill. I am deer in headlights. I am the “old man” whose apparent arthritis cannot keep up with a 18 year old punk. But I have used my experience in life to my advantage and did what I had to do: I asked for help. Hossman now has a video game tutor.

Mr. ChicagoJR has proceeded to beat me across the net, time after time after time. He hides then tells me he sees me. He sings the Jaws theme song when he is about to kill me. It’s like being hunted by the Zodiac killer, I have no idea where he is. He is close and can probably smell my fear. My character is starting to lose his nerve, his fear is palpatable and I think that he has wet his pants. Bam, I explode into a million pieces, my atoms scattered across star systems.

“See old man, you don’t look around. You got the tunnel vision.” Chicago says.

“What do you mean Tunnell Vision?! I’m looking at the damn screen!” I yell.

“Naw man, you gotta always look behind you, every three seconds. I been following you all over this map” This game is an artwork that I have not realized.

ChicagoJr and I are in a private game. He has allowed me to do this several times and I learn from the master. I met him in a game and for some reason he took a liking to me. I guess it was like taking pity on that lost puppy that you find. Wet with fleas, he took me in. Since then he has shown me many tricks of the trade.

“ Quit aiming” master says. “you don’t aim with the shotgun, you just point at their head and get blazing.”
“That’s what I have been doing!”

“Naw man, you been shooting at their feet. You gotta learn to aim without aiming.” The zen master is right. I have been shooting at feet. I have to learn to aim without aiming. This becomes my “There is no spoon” chant.

Bam, I get a sniper rifle to the head. Another lesson resumes.
“After you hear the first shot, you have to jump every 4 seconds. He can’t reload that fast and you live.” I am taking it all in, my powers are increasing.

A huge explosion, my dignity scattered everywhere. “Don’t get tagged man, roll out of the way when they coming at you.” When you get hit with a grenade, this is called a “Fag Tag”. I have been fagged many times.

The lessons continue, hour after hour. My wife has gone to bed, my daughter lays disappointed in her crib at her father’s failure. I learn every trick I can from him. From using cover, to which weapon to use and to also taunt, such as tea bagging. When another player is wounded, he gets on all fours. Your character goes up and straddles him. You push the squat button and bam, you are tea bagging him. It’s a great insult.

“You ready man, you ready.” ChicagoJr tells me. The master is taking me to the real world to test my skills.

The game is execution, 2 on 4. Chicago and I are the two. We sweep through the map, working as a tandem. We are talking the whole way, the team work is high as I follow my general. I check behind me every three seconds. The second time I do this I see Poop23 coming at me with a grenade. I roll out of the way and blow his head off. I aim without aiming, the devil is here and hell’s coming with me.

ChicagoJr bags another one, with little effort. I am no longer afraid. I am the hunter, I am the vengeful one. The Flying Squirrel darts past me, he has not seen me. I pull out my grenade and tag him. I laugh while I do this. He has not learned the lesson of looking behind you every three seconds. I hear an “aw shit” as he realizes what has happened. His humulation is dinner for my soul.

“Aim without Aiming. Aim without Aiming” I chant to myself. My power grows strong. XTC ADDICT jumps from behind a wall. My machine gun remembers. My machine gun is my arm of justice. I dive behind a stone and tear him apart. He falls to the ground, panting in defeat. I straddle him. He is teabagged. It is bruttle. It is justice.

I laugh like a mad hyenna. All reason has left me. I am the last one standing and I stand in glory. They are mere boys and I, THE OLD MAN.

A bullet rips through my head and my victory is short lived.
“Man, you aint’ that good” ChicagoJr says over my lifeless virtual body.
I have learned my last lesson from the master. Betrayal is everywhere. I feel the vengeance rising again.

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