Whose Fault?

So there I was: TF2 night was on, and I was ready. Cheetos? Check. 4-gallon drum of Lipton Raspberry Tea (sweetened with RealLemon)? Check. Foley catheter to prevent unnecessary bathroom breaks? Check.

I logged in and suited up. I jump on the server and load up my favorite player class, the Heavy. I was headed out to the front line when zambo! I'm down. No problem; it's probably just lag or a server glitch or something. Respawn and back out there. Bazoomba! I'm dead again. This lag is really getting me down. Respawn again and in like five seconds I'm dead again. Respawn, kazowie. Respawn, zonk.

This kind of repetition is not the thing that TheRealRandy goes for.

A normal person at this point would get down, feel sorry for himself, blame the server, spout a stream of profanity, whatever. Not me. I'm about being productive. Taking a situation that sucks and making someone else suck on it instead. I'm all about taking someone else's lemons and making them into lemonade ... for me.

And that's when I see the problem. I look down, and there it is. It's been staring me in the face (or really, in the hand) the whole time. I never knew I'd let it get so close to me, and now that I knew, I never would again. It was a tiny crumb of cheeto dust wedged in the wheel receptacle of my mouse. All that time it hadn't been my fault that I was getting owned so badly. It was the cheetos and their contemptable orange detritus.

In a matter of seconds, I'd pounded my mouse back into compliance with a few punches from Randy's patented "fists o' fixin" and was back in top game shape. This time I was the one in charge. I was the one on the handle-side of the knife for the rest of the night. This time, I was the captain of the Sadie Hawkins Dance, and no one could touch me.

Well, come this morning I realize that I can't count on my equipment to Sally me through a night of serious gamin'. I need quality gear designed for the high expectations I have. That's why I'm searching for a military-grade mouse designed to repel debris and operate in the most harsh of situations -- sand, fog, underwater, wherever TheRealRandy has need to go.

'Cause I'm not givin' up my cheetos.