The Game of War

by Dan King

To play MW3 or not to play MW3--that is the question:
Whether 'ti nobler in the mind of suffer
The bullets and grenades of tormenting twelve year-olds
Or to take the controller and mic against Elder Scrolls V,
and by playing, enjoy it. To deathmatch--to lag--
No more; and my campaign we do away with
Makarov, and the world war he left
That the earth is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly praised by many. To spawn, to die--
To spawn--perchance to get a killstreak, aye, there's the fun.
For in that game of war what chances may come,
When we turn the corner to the other team,
Shall frighten us. There's the killcam
That make disgrace of so good a player.
For who would bear the kills and airstrikes of newbs,
Th' newbs' idiocy, the pro's frustration
The pangs of despised teammates, the lag's delay
The inaudible voice of the child, and attempts to mute.
The lacking merit of th' underage child
When he himself might be made of of,
quit and lag the entire game? Who would play?
To spawn in die under a weary cycle
But that dread of a different game,
The undiscovered controls from which,
No one truly understands, puzzles the mind
And makes us rather bear the ills of COD
Than to the others that we know not of?
Thus, COD does make cowards of us all,
Our natural curiosity only extending to MW4,
And enterprises with great games and fun,
Ignore their games and turn awry.
And lose the name of gaming.