Ghost Recon… I need this game like I need a hole in the head. Now it’s shortcut sits on my desktop and taunts me. I promised myself I wouldn’t play it today, and I’ve already played it twice. Will and Jeff knew about the disease; knew the crippling symptoms, knew that you can never go back. . . but they said nothing. They just sat and watched as another naive gamer entered the fold. Now I’ve got the GRDT’s and nothing will stop the shakes except sitting for an hour in a polygonal bush waiting for that pixel in the distance to come out from behind the rock so I can shoot him. Damn you crickets! Damn you all to hell!

Damn you couch! Damn you to hell!