We've all been there, Girl Who Stores Game Controllers In Her Underwear. Sometimes, it gets really hot outside. You're sitting in your apartment in your underwear, playing some video games to make the sweltering afternoon go by faster.
She's a model. She's a gamer. She's a nuclear physicist. She's an incredibly accomplished young woman.
We've all been there, Ragequitting Baby. You're playing a quick round of capture the flag online, and there's this guy on the other team who just won't. Stop. Killing you. And as he does so, he lets loose an unending stream of invective, racial slurs, and all manner of other disgusting language.
Being an orange is hard. You grow up on a tree, surrounded by friends, only to be plucked at your ripest, crated, and shipped off to a grocery store, destined to be devoured by health-conscious shoppers.
Oh, no. Grandpa. That look in your eyes. That clenched grimace. That loose, delicate grip on your controller's joysticks, as if you aren't really playing anything at all.
How... how could this be? I had it. I really thought I had it.