Friday night games can vary wildly in their medium, but not as wildly as the conversations over Teamspeak. Last night the gaming was as before, Battlefield 3 followed by some Dota 2, but the sparkling conversation included things possibly never discussed before by man.
Lets ease into the night. Last week’s BEEF was well received, so more of the same was to be had to begin with. The usual niceties were exchanged between the vanguard while we looked for a server. I think I mentioned last week about how the Battlefield series has been consistent in its fucking awful server browsing, and while Battlelog is actually pretty functional considering how much everyone railed against a browser based front end, it’s still next to useless for actually finding a server. So Mr Johnson and I spent a little while wrangling the apparently arbitrary filter system to find a server which fit our needs, while the others talked about a 25 year old blackhead and Roman’s sexual1 attraction towards disgusting minor medical procedures.
The needs were for a selection of Rush maps. After last week’s helicopter woes we decided a slightly faster pace and less vehicle death might be more fun, and eventually a server was found. This is roughly the point when the title of this week’s diary comes in. The conversation had, naturally, segued to furries and how fucking creepy they are. We theorised for a little while on reverse furries – animals with human ears and no tails. I couldn’t be arsed photoshopping it at the time, but today I have more motivation. Mr Johnson, I’m dedicating that to you.
The games went on much as usual. We discovered Grimmie has a penchant for erratic flying, mostly downwards, and that Pnut can land aircraft on his breasts2. We also discovered that we’re not all that bad at the game, so much so that in our first couple of rounds MJ was accused of being an ‘immortal haxwhore.’ Henceforth he was known as Connor Haxwhore of the clan Haxwhore. Pnut, meanwhile, took down one of his rotary wing tormentors with a tank round, much to his satisfaction. It wasn’t to last though, and by the time the map rotated to Metro we were losing and getting sick of being shot up in the tunnels.
On to Dota 2 then, as last week. We had, I think, a record 9 5punkers playing in the first game, with only one bot to make up the numbers. Naturally I found myself laning with the bot. Berk and Wiggy arrived, ‘sharing the same mic’ (which we assumed was some kind of euphemism), and we gave Wiggy a gentle introduction to the game by ganking him. The second game was a walkover by the Bits/Roman/Fab/Johnson team, with both our bots being utterly useless, and Pnut and Grimmie randoming characters who they just didn’t get on with. Such is Dota, unfortunately. For the first time I saw the enemy team destroy every single thing in our spawn before they bothered with the Ancient. That’s it, rub it in you cunts.
The final game was notable because the remaining four of us dropped two Medium bots into the other team. We still slaughtered them.
1We were working on the assumption it was sexual. Evidence not required where supposition is funnier.
2“Helicopters are getting right on my tits.”