(WARNING: Rated M for Mature: 17+ only – contains strong language.)
SANTA MONICA – If he didn't hurry up, local 12-year-old Tyler Orlando, known more commonly within the Call of Duty online community by his gamertag, "CharZilla007," was going to be late to soccer practice for the second time this week.
"Honey, do you know where your cleats are?" called Mrs. Orlando from somewhere in the house.
"I don't know, Mom," he shouted back, the words projecting loud and sharp through the headset microphone for all to hear.
"Tyler, are you even looking for them?"
"I'm looking, Mom. They're not in here!" Tyler said, repeating the lie a second time while ignoring his basic duty to help shoot down enemy air support (despite being well-equipped to do just that), and instead throwing grenades indiscriminately, ending several teammates' hard-earned kill streaks.
According to sources familiar with Orlando, it was a common scene.
"CharZilla," said Eric Allenby, a long-time veteran of the Call of Duty series, sucking air in sharply through his teeth. "That little fucker."
Known also by the gamertag "ItchyAnus," Allenby is closely acquainted with Orlando's vexing style of gameplay.
"I have some video recorded because I was having the best game of my life," recalled Allenby. "See – right here. Can you hear him start singing 'Fireworks' by Katy Perry? He's not even playing at this point, just singing. And then… most everyone quit… in disgust."
Throughout the Call of Duty online community, Orlando is well-known for his rare ability to inspire players to uncover previously unknown depths of anger within themselves – dark, disturbing places where their savage instincts are unconsciously suppressed.
"The thing about him is," continued Allenby, growing agitated. "He does it all. All the bullshit. Fucking constantly mouthbreathes, whines about his stats, whines about his kills getting stolen, kills his teammates, and he's gotta be the absolute worst goddamn camper of all time."
"And his voice…" said Allenby, his own voice shaking almost imperceptibly as he closed his eyes, reached into his memory and, twisting his face, retrieved the precise, pre-pubescent sound.
"It's just the kind of situation, you know, when you wish the state could intervene or something, for the good of society, and put the kid down before he can get any worse."
As of presstime and after calling a third time for her son to grab his shinguards and come downstairs already, Mrs. Orlando finally threatened to come upstairs and get him herself.
"Got to go, faaaaags," said Orlando, sing-songing his words. "See you bitches later."