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They spend more time typing than taking the kill.
Their aim? A mystery, like a dart in the dark,
They miss every shot, then scream "What a lark!"
They rage at the game, then rage at their team,
"I swear, the server’s broken!"—it's their daily theme.
They’re down in the dumps, their mood in a funk,
They’ve thrown three grenades, and each one’s a chunk.
They run through the map, but they don’t quite know where,
Tripping over teammates, and “Oops! I’m sorry, I swear!”
While the others are fighting, they’re crying and sad,
"Why do I suck at this game? It’s just making me mad!"
⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏
⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣉⠉⠉⠉
⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦
⠀⣾⣿⠏⣥⣤⣍⢻⣿⣷
⢰⣿⣿⡈⣿⣿⣿⡄⢿⣿⡇
⣸⣿⣿⣷⡘⣿⣿⣿⣌⢻⠇
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡘⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⢻⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣙⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦
⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣬⣭⣉⡙⢿⣿
⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⢉⡛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡿
⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿+REP::⠻⣷⣶⣤⣬⣭⣍⣥⠞⠁
⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠋⣡⣴⣶⣦⣄⡀
⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⢋⣥⣤⡍⢻⣆