The Purging Lutheran gathered up the games The Lad doesn’t play anymore and sent them away. Here is one of them. The Call of Duty Corporation, likely based out of Walla Walla, Washington, keeps crankin’ these babies out for breakfast, lunch, dinner and the occasional 9pm carb-attack. Their commercials are splattered on many sports networks particularly during football games. No doubt football fans would like to play the part of the fella holding the machine gun when their favorite player bumbles the ball to the other team, when the announcers go on and on and on with superlatives of a seven yard run but especially when play is held up for ‘never-instant replay’. Great Scott! How long does it really take to determine if the knee/hand/shoulder touched the ground before the ball popped free? And DO NO NOT get me started on whether a player made a ‘football move’ after catching the ball before blooping it on the ground while being tackled, or if he held the ball properly scoring a TD before he flips it to the ground (remember Megatron?), or the ceaseless back-and-forth video to see if his toe touched an out-of-bounds line? I’ve played enough football in the back yard to know when a catch is a catch, a fumble a fumble, or when someone was grossly out of bounds.
I’ve no complaints about this game except to question whether a military-trained soldier would ever carry his rifle like that especially with his finger on the trigger?
“Has anyone by fussing in front of the mirror ever gotten taller by so much as an inch? All this time and money wasted on fashion—do you think it makes that much difference? Instead of looking at the fashions, walk out into the fields and look at the wildflowers. They never primp or shop, but have you ever seen color and design quite like it? The ten best-dressed men and women in the country look shabby alongside them.