Fox Files: Ramboel Wins Both Ways

One of the first time’s Ramboel betrayed me he was flying a helicopter while I was sitting in the passenger seat.  As we arrived at our destination something suddenly felt peripherally off before the helicopter smashed into a building and incinerated my life.  Ramboel, the pilot I had trusted, could be found parachuting to safety while laughing hysterically. 

Let’s rewind for a second.  In COD there are two components required to achieve a kill.  First, you must “down” your opponent which sends them to the floor.  Then as they are bleeding out, you must finish the job and fully end their life.  That’s right, fully end their life.  Heck, you might even execute them and call upon a dog or a crow (that’s a real thing) to rip their limp body apart as they take their final breaths.  Man up soldier, this is a warzone.  I’m not crying, I just have allergies.  Seriously, stop, it’s not funny.  Don’t touch me!  

Anyway, when trying to complete a kill it is often your teammate that might come to the rescue and help finish your opponent off.  Not in that kind of way you sicko, this isn’t about happy endings, I’m talking about murder.  COD labels this a “kill confirmed.”  Sadly, among my bandit group of friends we call this “licking the juices” and really what that means is you are nothing more than a wannabe soldier tasting, but not achieving a kill.  “The Minds of Merrick” as my disapproving Father from Merrick, New York used to call us, were never the classiest bunch.  Either way, among all of us there is an unspoken, gentleman’s agreement that if someone is downed you try to finish the kill for your teammate – except one player:


Among us COD players, Ramboel is the only one that’s genuinely talented.  Among the over 200 victories I have in COD I’d venture to say at least 80% of them would not have been possible without Ramboel.  

The first time I sent him this article he said, “There are inaccuracies in your numbers.  I am responsible for 97% of victories.  3% is you guys, I humbly admit.”  You’re starting to understand.

One time I used a helicopter as a weapon to smush an opponent and “down” him.  Yes, that’s right I used a helicopter as both a vehicle and a weapon to incapacitate my opponent.  It was glorious.  The maggot managed to crawl into an alcove that my helicopter couldn’t access.  I quickly parked and ran over to his ailing body.  However, I was met by his charging teammate who downed me like the cockblock he was.  He then began reviving his teammate as I laid there watching my victim being saved, contemplating all the decisions that led to that moment, knowing very shortly I’d be the victim.  Some say I was crying while saying, “Mommy, I want my Mommy.”  I assure you, this is untrue.

Suddenly, a different, unmanned helicopter came flying through the sky exploding on my enemies.  They were miraculously downed as if God himself had just saved me by tossing a helicopter with his giant hands like a cave troll might toss a boulder.  Through the fire emerged Ramboel like the Terminator.  He executed both my enemies, then walked towards me and stood above me.  He was glorious, shirtless, covered in spattered blood, but in a chic murderer kind of way.  I could taste life again like an NDE survivor being pulled back from heaven by Jesus himself to fulfill the purpose my near death had almost prevented.  A dramatic symphony crescendoed, fire blazing behind Ramboel and as I cried ugly tears, adoring him from the floor he passed my bleeding body, not even bothering to look back, got into my perfectly parked helicopter and said “Thanks for the heli Fox” while giggling and flying away.  That brilliant son of a bitch.

Recently, Ramboel found a new form of teammate treachery when I downed an enemy and he stood over his helpless body watching him revive.  I begged and pleaded with Ramboel to finish the job, but all I heard was relatively quiet, excited giggling like a teenager in sex-ed class who just learned about a new part of the female anatomy.  Once my enemy was back on his feet, Ramboel immediately took his second life effectively stealing my kill and circumventing a “kill confirmed” like a true scumbag.  I swear to god I never heard him so happy.

I’ll give Ramboel credit; he can dish it and take it.  In fact, he never gets salty, ever.  Among my group of friends we all have our teenage moments where we get frustrated, annoyed or even embarrassed if we aren’t performing well, especially when our teammates might be watching us, but not Ramboel.  However, recently, for one of the first times in all my COD playing time, I witnessed Ramboel get frustrated and it was in the most bizarre of circumstances.

TraitorHank had downed a clown from a distance and Ramboel happened to be next to him.  With giddy excitement Ramboel announced, “he’s self reviving, he’s self reviving!”  We all immediately knew what Ramboel was up to.  TraitorHank, being the sniveling coward his name accurately insinuates, begged for Ramboel to finish the kill.  “Please, you don’t understand.  I need this. Please.”  Yeah it was weird, but Ramboel was undeterred, the begging only further fueled as he described it, his erection.  I was confused too.  Then Ramboel suddenly exclaimed, “No!  No, what are you doing?  Don’t stop self reviving you moron!”  In an almost beautiful protest, the clown stopped self reviving and rather, let himself die.  After all, his revival would have merely led to immediate humiliation via Ramboel’s trolling gun.  Ramboel was devastated.

The next morning Ramboel texted me:  

“Yesterday a tragedy occurred during cod.  TraitorHank downed a clown and he was reviving in front of my face.  I had the pistol locked in, watching him revive from the start.  Nursed him, checked his temperature, gave him chicken soup, salivating at the thought of caw cawing Hanks kill.  This cowardly clown takes his own life.  Robbed me of what is rightfully mine.  The world is a cruel dark place.  My blood boils.  I will take what’s rightfully mine.”

“Caw cawing” is a reference to a vulture teammate stealing someone’s kill.  When such things happen, it’s only right to caw caw like an evil bird.

Caw caw, my friends.  Caw, caw.

Love always,

Seth Borkowski is a New York-based writer who enjoys writing about dating, self-improvement, sports and the challenges of growing older as a millennial. You can read more of his work at

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