Fake Gamer Of The Week_ I Wish I Were Dead

How… how could this be? I had it. I really thought I had it. But no. It’s over. I lost the match. There are no repeats. It’s never coming back. It’s over.(new Image()).src = 'https://capi.connatix.com/tr/si?token=995c4c7d-194f-4077-b0a0-7ad466eb737c&cid=872d12ce-453b-4870-845f-955919887e1b'; cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "995c4c7d-194f-4077-b0a0-7ad466eb737c" }).render("79703296e5134c75a2db6e1b64762017"); }); Just like everything else in my life. Five years ago, I never thought it would be this way. I never thought I’d be working twelve hours a day in accounts receivable, crunching numbers and watching my soul erode like the loneliest ocean pier. I never thought my wife would leave me for her pilates instructor. I h25 com เข้าสู่ระบบ​ never thought she’d take the kids. I never thought I’d let a thirteen-year-old boy beat me in Call of Duty He wasn’t even playing fair. He must have been cheating. Like Marsha. Why do I put up with this? I have a degree from Pace University. h25 com สล็อต​ I drive a Dodge Stratus. He is thirteen. I’m better than him. I’m going to respawn and try again. Right now. He… he teabagged me. His soldier squatted down and stuck its virtual crotch in my soldier’s virtual mouth. Then danced on my body. I guess it’s only fitting. Life has been teabagging me for years. Are you there, Marsha? It’s me. Ted. No… no, please don’t hang up. I h25 com เข้าสู่ระบบ​ promise I’ll stop crying. Please. I just want to hear your voice for a sec— you hung up. You hung up on me. Marsha. I love you. Do you remember when we first met, Marsha? Oh, how we’d laugh. We’d giggle and dream of the future, of three-car garages and summer vacations and two beautiful golden retrievers. Were you dreaming of your pilates instructor? What was his name? Eduardo. What the hell kind of name is Eduardo? Was it worth it, Marsha? Was it worth us? Maybe I’ll play more video games. At least there I’m in control. Why? What kind of God would put me on this earth just to be slaughtered by an endless wave of thirteen-year-old boys? What kind of woman would leave me for a pilates instructor? Who even does pilates anymore? Is this a test? Am I being tested? If this is a test, I failed, okay? I failed and I don’t deserve anything. I don’t deserve to live in this world anymore. I don’t deserve Marsha. I don’t deserve Call of Duty. I don’t deserve those golden retrievers. …Maybe one more match. Please kill me. Photos: maximino/Shutterstock