I crouched next to my base's forward tower, zoomed in with my sniper rifle, waiting, waiting ... He had our flag, but he was hurt, and he was running from several of my biggest guys. I was just gonna peg him out of the sky, like I had dozens of times before. And there he was, drifting into my crosshairs, when

MEEP! MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!

Headlights were flashing in my window, and a car horn blared loud enough to quiver the glass. It happens everytime my buttplug neighbor drives his '74 volkswagen out of his driveway -- he sets off car alarms up and down the street. I flinched; my crosshair skittered up to the sky and my shot went off into the stratosphere.

Worse, it was one of those car alarms that periodically shuts off. Supposedly for my sanity. Merciful silence descended. I thought the madness was over. Within a few moments I was guiding my Shrike in low and fast for the best flag run of my life. Then: The Meeping.

MEEP! MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!

Oh God, I was rolling like sushi. I slammed into the side of the enemy base so hard the camera clipped through the wall. "DAMN YOU!!" I cried, leaping into the air, fists shaking. I stormed outside, furious, looking for some sort of club or mallet. The beeping stopped, perhaps, to taunt me. I walked forward and kicked the front bumper.

The car rolled backwards a few inches.

Could it be? Could ... could they possibly have left the parking brakes off and the car out of gear? Well, that's not the kind of thing I would take advantage of, I'm a pretty even tempered guy, I wouldn't --

MEEP! MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!

Fury boiled through my veins! I resisted the urge to toss a rock through the winshield and, instead, rolled it back 50 feet until it was parked in front of a fire hydrant.

Then I called the cops.