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Reliable Source: I Once Punched a 13-Year-Old in the Face

Marion Cox | 27 Feb 2010 13:58
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I normally play games to avoid the things that make real life miserable: divorces, failed interviews, even fathers killing your D&D characters. Joining a clan then was the farthest thing from my mind when I started playing Battlefield 1942.

It was while playing that game that I became known as "the Allies' meanest jeep chauffeur." I would launch my vehicle and whatever schlub was unfortunate to be riding shotgun into tanks on the shores of Wake Island. Jim used to call jeeps used in this manner "land torpedoes" and the unfortunate occupants "indicators of success." If someone on your team didn't die, you couldn't be sure how successful your land torpedo assault had been.

Terry, a guy from work (and sometimes indicator of success), joined us right when the Secret Weapons of World War II pack was released but the game was already past its prime, and as cool as shooting Nazi's from a jetpack sounds, it really wasn't. Cool, that is.

But Battlefield Vietnam brought back Terry along with Scott and Lee to the battle. They joined Jim and I in camping Viet Cong spawnpoints with the horribly imbalanced M60. Our game nights at Jim's house were not planned out at first, but as the beer flowed into Jim's parent's basement, so did the new recruits.

By the time Battlefield 2 was released, our group of friends had become rather enamored with the idea of becoming a proper clan. I could have cared less; I was going through a rough patch with my wife who had gone mental after discovering that I had been secretly gaming behind her back. But I agreed to let Jim play clan organizer under the condition that I got to choose the Clan name and I could borrow his Dreamcast. Jet Grind Radio was pretty fun.

Jim's first order as leader of the CoCKS clan [The full meaning of the acronym cannot be published here due to internet decency laws. -ed.] was to proclaim himself General Jimmy_James_Esq.

The first thing he did as the king of our clan was organize a match against the ~-=YRK=-~ clan whose server we often played on. p00nm4st3r accepted the our request for a friendly scrim. We were greeted by their clan leader spamming, "Hi faggot." That sure didn't bode well for the "friendly" part of "friendly scrim."

CoCKS clan started as the US Marines on everyone's favorite map, Karkand. Jimmy took his squad to the left and was ambushed by a squad of dolphin-diving grenade-spammers. My squad provided a largely ineffectual distraction on the hill overlooking the right side of the first spawn point.

Our distraction amounted to being hammered by snipers and artillery. We were losing tickets and something had to be done. I turned to Jimmy, "I am going to try to get past these fuckers in a Humvee."

Jim was really into it, "Negative, that's a negative. Continue to provide diversion on hill 214!"

I ignored Jim's order and ordered my squad into the Humvee. As I pulled out of the filling station I heard Jim shout "What the hell are you doing, man!?" Picking up speed I launched the vehicle over the hill, landing right between the out of bounds zone and a wall. We drove to the end of the wall where I let my troops out to take the second spawn point.

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