Dirty Xbox Hooker

This weekend, I did the unthinkable. I joined in a twisted threesome with K and his skankalicious mistress, Call of Duty. It felt wrong from the start, but after an hour of running into walls, getting shot repeatedly and clogging doorways with my clumsy inertia, I'm sad to admit that I actually got hooked on it.

I know, girls. I swore I'd never join in on this sort of lunacy. Call of Duty is a life ruiner. An Xbox hooker of the worst kind. But once you get that controller in your hands and you've actually played long enough to shoot a player or two, she sings her siren song, lures you to her lair, then turns you to stone like a modern day Medusa.

The real kicker is the feedback you receive over the headset from the other players who have shot you in the back, blown you up with grenades, and stabbed you with knives. It's what draws you in, keeps you in the game. The incessant harassing, sarcastic jabs and verbal abuse is just impossible to resist.

So maybe next time instead of initiating a verbal beatdown on my boyfriend for immersing himself in the world of his infidelity, I'll join in. Because nothing feels better than looking that hooker in the eye, hiding behind some sandbags and sniping out random strangers from three countries over.