Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare

There should be a warning on the case of COD 4 that reads something like this:
“This game is not intended for married persons or those entering a new relationship, those with children, a job, or a sick relative, household pet, or plant that may need your attention. If you have any life outside of playing video games DO NOT attempt to play COD4. Especially on XBOX live, as it will cause your employer, family, friends, significant other, and/or anything else you value on this planet to give up on you as a human being. In short: This game induces excessive beard growth.”

I’ve played A LOT of video games and I consider myself somewhat of a connoisseur of first person shooter titles and franchises. I’ve spent many an hour in front of my TV that arguably should have been spent doing more productive tasks such as going to work—or thinking. However, I can tell you that ever since I bought this game and started playing it, I have not seen the light of day. I have become a shadow of my former self. A shadow who’s image has been permanently burned into the paint on the wall behind me. Who am I? What have I become?

I haven’t answered my phone or my door in over a week. I have a problem. I am a COD 4 addict. If you become like me then I will see you in “The Bog” and someone, somewhere, will maybe remember us and pray for our lost souls. And when I blow your head off with my DRAGONUV sniper rifle, don’t get all bent out of shape and try and kill me when you re-spawn. I’ll have already displaced, hiding away until you become a blip in my radar—and I’ll just do it to you over and over again because I have a problem. I am a rabid, heartless, killing machine. I am a COD4 addict. I am not alone. (Ed: Alone. So alone...)