Middleditch Littlebitch

Boomer!

My dear sweet girlfriend and I have just completed the third chapter in the first Left 4 Dead game.  We’re a little late to the party on that one but that’s the price you pay for wanting to play every game that comes out to completion and having other things to do in life.  But she’s into zombies.  She’s also into their deaths at the hands of her M16 Assault Rifle.  And she’s getting good, too!  She’ll even call “Smoker!” when she sees one, and we both get tense when we hear the eery crying of The Witch.  We had a pretty funny interaction a little bit ago and it went something to the effect of:

Andree: “Oh!  Was that a Witch?”

Thomas: “No, but I think a horde is coming.”

Andree: “Oh no.”

Thomas: “It’s easy to tell when a witch is around.  What do witches do?”

Andree: “Witches cry.”

Thomas: “That’s right.  Witches cry.”

It’s true, too.  They’re really depressed.  Just sitting there, crying.  Poor little things.  That’s why I turn off my flashlight so as not to startle them, sneak up behind them, and blow them away with as many shotgun blasts as I can get off in under three seconds.  I think I’ll get into my gaming journey with Andree in another post, but I just wanted to brag that ain’t no zombies gettin’ hold of deez nuts (or tits).