No way, Crenshaw! I'm not joining your game tonight. Not on your server. Not on your team. No how.

Last time we played I spent the majority of the battle for Wake Island on the hood of your jeep. I didn't intend to be there. In fact, usually my last fateful words were "wait up!" just before you slammed on the gas. I've heard the excuses. "The Japs were on the bridge!" you say. I'm not buying it. One second our base looked to be secure, the next thing I know I had a pair of windshield wipers up my nostrils.

Playing on a server with you is like filming an episode of TJ Hooker. No, wait, it's like being an extra on the set of Grand Theft Auto. You know, I'm certain that there are Japanese people, perhaps storming the beaches from this "Japanese Imperial Navy" that I've heard talked up about, but I never see them. That's because nine times out of ten there's a front grille filling my monitor. One time I was running for a tank and you yelled "Look out for the Japs!" and then I got hit from behind by your jeep and dragged fifty, maybe sixty yards. "That was close," you said. What was close, Crenshaw? Did I almost make it to the tank alive, do you mean?

You know another thing I find suspicious? When I hit the "scorecard" button, there's only two people on the server -- you and me. I'll be walking around our bases, waiting for word about the whereabouts of the enemy, and you'll be yelling "Japs! Japs!" and suddenly my helmet is washing your windows. You know, I'm beginning to think -- I'm beginning to think you might be doing it on purpose, Crenshaw. Come to think of it, what about the time I saw you hiding behind the bunker revving your engine and asking where I was? Were there any Japs behind the bunker, Crenshaw? Be honest, now.