QQ MORE.

Hi, my name is Sea Nan-
SIKE.

Welcome to group "QQ MORE", we're a group of MW2-♥♥♥♥/fanatics. Whatever you wanna call it.

(We play Modern Warfare 2 like 24/7, but we have other games too, like TF2, CSS, Gmod, etc etc. But we'll always be on MW2 just FYI).

If you can add [QQ] to the front of your name, for this will instill fear into anyone that comes before us (it will literally make them QQ, piss their pants, and run to mommy).

If you wanna play with people from the group, we're friendly so we won't bite (unless your name is Tim). We may have events too, so come if you can.

Thanks for looking at our page, and read the rules below orelse.

P.S: Try to invite people, regardless of skill level. This group was primarily made for fun, not skill/facerolling. >:O. WE ARE NOOB FRIENDLY.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~RULES~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1. No QQing. (This may seem hypocrite, as chances are majority of us cry in-game, but nonetheless).

34. There is porn of it, no exceptions.

3. Must be open to racial comments and slurs

4. No clan fighting/challenges (unless its initiated by one of the admins).

5.Cannot be a girl (Girls dont exist on the internet... If however you are a girl, you must make all the men in the group sammiches on a routine basis).

6. No ♥♥♥♥ (ahem, Tim).

7. Respect eachother, but be open to jokes.

8. No hacking. (AHEM MCSKATE).

SKYPE NAMES:
Nick Fujii (Joshersz)
NerdyTimmy

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My friend Billy likes to chat when we have sleepovers. He seems to think the point of them is to be up all night talking; I always want to remind him that it has the word "sleep" in it, but he wouldn't listen anyway. One particular night, I was exhausted from listening to Billy ramble all night, so I came home to take a nap. My family was gone -- at my brother's school show, I figured.

I tried to stay awake long enough to watch some TV, but eventually zombie-walked to my room and collapsed into bed. I started dreaming.

In my dream, I walked into my bathroom and flicked on the lights. Blood stains spilled over the edges of the tub; inside, a little girl lay sprawled, covered from head to toe in the blood. Her eyes were filled with bloody tears, and she was crying out, over and over again: "Help me...help me..."

I jerked awake, the filaments of the dream still lingering at the edges of my brain. I realized my bladder was calling for relief. I didn't want to use the bathroom, but I had to go. I stumbled into the bathroom and plopped onto the toilet, rubbing my tired eyes.

I lifted my head and frowned. My hands were like ice blocks. And I could feel something warm dripping down my fingers. Blood? I wanted to cry out, but maybe it was just sweat from my dream, so I stood up and looked in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot, but there was no blood.

Then a horrible idea hit me.

I turned to the bathtub.

There was the girl, scrunched into a tight ball. Blood decorated her face like gruesome warpaint, and her mouth was moving -- was she singing? I couldn't tell.

My own lips moved silently, trying to form a scream. I heard the familiar sound of my father's car pull up in the driveway, so the part of my brain that was still functioning normally presumed they were home. I continued to try to scream, but no one came.

I blacked out.

I found myself lying on the bathroom floor when I came to. Pressing a hand to my forehead, I ran to my parents' bedroom and peered in. They were safely asleep.

I looked down at my hand. There was the faintest trace of blood between my fingers.

I am scared to this day to use the bathroom in my house.