blatant aimbot

Five kills, sixteen deaths, the scoreboard looks grim,
On Nuke in high elo, my chances seem slim.
I whiff and I stumble, get picked off again,
While sharper aim shines from the rest of the men.

But brains over bullets—that’s where I excel,
I’m reading their moves like a story I tell.
A fake and a rotate, a perfectly timed call,
They think that they’ve got us—then suddenly fall.

While they chase the highlights and padding their stats,
I’m pulling the strings, setting silent traps.
My aim may be lacking, my KD a mess,
But I’m winning the rounds through sheer chess.

And when it is over, the scoreboard may say
I struggled and suffered most rounds of the day—
But victory’s mine, let the numbers mislead,
For intellect carried what aim could not feed.

waller

this bum cheats

why are you not better than froggirl tho fr

ribbit