Slipping into the whole war thing is apparently very effective. Just pretend you're hunting Charlie or Jerry or Predator, and (so I'm told) your inner Metal Gear instincts come out. I did try this once, but it's better sometimes to just let go and treat it like, well, fun. I'll explain.
I was all in the zone, having assigned myself the 'lone sniper' role. (Advice: Every man on earth wants to be it, but it's very boring and very ineffective. It's paint, for chris'sake, and you can't even take a shit in your ##### like REAL snipers). So there I was, spinning manically at the merest sound of a snapped twig, dropping to the ground at the slightest movement etc. I WAS A WAR MACHINE. Finally, I found a way up a large bank with a commanding view of the battlefield.
Crawling over to the the edge of the ridge, I set my sights on some killin'. The illusion was spoiled somewhat by seeing one of my friends laughing manically, hauling around a grinning space-hopper while trying to avoid being hit by multicoloured blobs shot by a panting, red-faced chubby young man, who subsequently ran into an ambush set by team and ran away screaming bloody murder.
Turns out while I'd been playing Willem Dafoe an epic battle had taken place, involving heroic sacrifices, impromptu flares of tactical genius and many gallant solo runs for the aforementioned space-hopper. The rest of my team, ambush successful and enemy team routing or dispatched, laughed their way back to the base taking turns on the space-hopper and shooting each other. I took one half-hearted shot at the fleeing back of the ambushee, which missed by a mile, and trudged back to base to join in the celebrations.
Oh, I laughed along. And I pretended to remember the great moments of our glorious victory.
But I was crying inside.
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Topic: So Whadda Ya People Know About... (Read 3931 times)