Gamers were all spawned from the same big fat couch-dwelling lizard.
One day, Slobbiroth, the mother of all gamers, was waiting in the dungeon queue. She didn’t notice, but some eggs fell from between her gigantic, scaley legs. They lay on the floor, unnoticed amongst the empty beer-cans and chip packets and debris. They lay there for several days, as she sat, and sweated, and stank, and clicked her mouse-finger up and down.
And after a few days, they hatched.
Slobbiroth’s children tried to get her attention, but she was oblivious. So, starving, they made their way out into the world. As each child came upon a living, breathing human being, it opened it’s mouth wide and swallowed that person whole. And, being shape-shifters, the children of Slobbiroth assumed the form of their most recent meal, and took on their lives.
Of course, their loved ones noticed. But Slobbiroth’s children had inheritted her cunning. They knew how to explain, and blame, and lie, and eventually they wore down the people around them. Tears had no impact on them, or shouting, or reasoning. The children of Slobbiroth were resolute. Nothing was important except for their need to game.
Some of them played WoW, some of them played EVEonline and some of them played SL. The retarded ones played Farmville. But each of them was the same. Nothing mattered other than securing an internet connection, bullying someone into paying for it, and staying connected. All the time.
Crises came and went around them. Children were born. Houses burned down. Spouses and children and mothers and fathers wept and pleaded. Some left. Some were so broken-hearted that they simply cried themselves to death. Slobbiroth’s children didn’t care. They gamed on.
Every so often, Slobboroth’s children felt the urge to breed. The males needed to find a female human to impregnate via cyberspace, and the females a male. They did this via a series of awkward conversations and falsified pictures of themselves.
And every now and then, while they are waiting in a dungeon queue, or for a battleground, arena or tournament to begin, or even while they are standing around in a nightclub in second life, eggs fall silently and unnoticed from between the legs of both humans and Slobbiroth’s descendants alike. They lie dormant for a few days and then hatch alone and hungry, and slither out into the world to devour good people and replicate them.
You may suspect that someone you know has been devoured by a child of Slobbiroth. If you do, please heed my advice. Move quietly. Don’t confront them. Pack up your things and your children, and GTFO.
There’s nothing you can do for them. They’re already gone.