Call of Duty and Steve Almond

Before we begin on a diabolical narration on something ridiculous that my mind has inevitably dug up from the reservoirs of my memories, I would like everyone to know that Steve Almond has agreed to marry me. I know that this is tough for you guys to hear, but just deal with it, I win. I am the winner. I am victorious. I wonder if I should invite his wife to our wedding? Or would that be weird? I want a house in the Upper East Side New York, a little dog I will call King Louie, and a ferret that I shall affectionately name Steve after his father. Beyond the fact that I hope he never actually reads this in fear that he might find me creepy or strange,as a precaution I will inform my readers that I am simply joking. I actually intend on marrying that one guy from Avatar and Clash of the Titans. I know most of my blog post are not what one would ever classify as 'deep' but I feel this is more like a diary for me then a collection of pieces worthy of being in the New Yorker. There are times when heart warming insight is necessary but I think I'll save that for later. Peoples lives aren't always a bag of joy and so to spare people from having to mix their non bags of joy with mine, I'll keep this blog light and fluffy like that weird marshmellow spread my sister used to love.People love a lot of weird things, but loving Call of Duty is oh so very hard.
It is the one game I cannot play.Actually who am I kidding, its one of the numerous games I cannot play. My guy friends will wake up at 5pm on a Saturday, make some weird chili concoction, and then plug into Xbox live. By the time I come over they are still in their satin pajama bottoms that their girlfriends left over, with a keystone light and its 10pm. "We are leaving NOW!" I'll say after having been there 45 minutes. "We are going to a party." I tell them, "Well alright..." they say. But that isn't the weirdest thing to me, the fact that they don't want to go to a party with real live people. The weirdest thing is that they would rather stay and talk to 12 year olds on some shooting game. These children swear worse then sailors, and by golly its appalling. I voice my concern, "So don't you think its sort of weird that your wearing your girls satin pajamas and talking to little boys?"
"Yeah its super weird."
"So...why are we still here?"
"Cause I'm winning."
"God."
"These kids are actually really annoying which is why I don't usually use the head gear. They are always singing Lady Gaga and saying 'take that bitches. I tell them to 'Shut up kid!' and they say, 'so mute me bitch.'It is very strange."
"So then we can go now...?"
"Yeah after this games done."
It's midnight now.