To frag or not to frag ? that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the game to suffer
The bullets and grenades of outrageous glitchers,
Or to take power-ups against a sea of noobs
And, by choosing the opposing team, pwn them. To die, to respawn
No more ? and by a respawn to say we end
The noob kills and the thousand natural insta deaths
That data is heir to ? ?tis a manifestation
Devoutly wanted. To die, to respawn
To respawn, perchance to watch killcams. Ay, there's the rub,
For in that respawn time what teabags may come,
When we have shuffled off this killstreak,
Must make us pause. There's the rewards
That makes AC-130's of so long life.
For who would bear the tubes and claymores of time,
Th? admin's wrong, the proud man's yelled insults,
The pains of despised frags, the banhammers delay,
The insolence of developers, and the spurns
That patient player of th? unworthy takes,
When the player might his peace make
With a ragequit? Who would burdens bear,
To grunt and sprint under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered camper from whose tube radius
No player returns, puzzles the strategy
And makes us rather bear those noobs we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make campers of us all,
And thus the native hue of high definition resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of explosions,
And enterprises of great strategy and accurate shooting
With this regard their movements turn awry,
And lose the movement of their action.?Now shut up!
The great Call of Duty game, in thy leaderboards
Be all my sins remembered
Fin
Whether 'tis nobler in the game to suffer
The bullets and grenades of outrageous glitchers,
Or to take power-ups against a sea of noobs
And, by choosing the opposing team, pwn them. To die, to respawn
No more ? and by a respawn to say we end
The noob kills and the thousand natural insta deaths
That data is heir to ? ?tis a manifestation
Devoutly wanted. To die, to respawn
To respawn, perchance to watch killcams. Ay, there's the rub,
For in that respawn time what teabags may come,
When we have shuffled off this killstreak,
Must make us pause. There's the rewards
That makes AC-130's of so long life.
For who would bear the tubes and claymores of time,
Th? admin's wrong, the proud man's yelled insults,
The pains of despised frags, the banhammers delay,
The insolence of developers, and the spurns
That patient player of th? unworthy takes,
When the player might his peace make
With a ragequit? Who would burdens bear,
To grunt and sprint under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered camper from whose tube radius
No player returns, puzzles the strategy
And makes us rather bear those noobs we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make campers of us all,
And thus the native hue of high definition resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of explosions,
And enterprises of great strategy and accurate shooting
With this regard their movements turn awry,
And lose the movement of their action.?Now shut up!
The great Call of Duty game, in thy leaderboards
Be all my sins remembered
Fin
