Having kicked the chelpy bint's hide into the back of beyond, at least 123 times in every conceivable manner, occasionally while watching the Larry Sanders show and balancing toe-nail clippings atop his hooter, she was forced to concede defeat.

"You mean you were only losing in order to attract my attention to the fact that all male-gamers are not sadly obsessed compulsives? That you are sensitive and don't feel that winning is everything?" she had asked, while her mangled character slid along the floor for the Nth time.

"That's right, baby! I am MAN! I am HUNTER! I am a winner. My genes are strong. Come breed with me!" GK was adrenalised by the thought that natural law was going to win through, that testosterone would triumph and that he'd soon be getting fu...

"It's too late for that you two-faced ice-hole! How dare you lie to me just to get into my pants? You do realise that you've humiliated me in front of all my mates. You make me sick. I'm off to play Unreal Tournament with some real men. You can go and fu..."

It was too, too late in the evening, and GK was only just able to pass on the moral of this week's tale to the three, now eager, acolytes who waited on every word like the apostles to Christ.

"GAME KID ROOLS. GAME KID ROCKS. GIVE US OPS!" they chirruped like St Peter, St Mark and St Luke on the Mount of Olives.

"This week's moral is: always be honest to people you meet online. And never, I mean never, lose a game of Quake III unless you can really help it. Losing is for losers and they can all fu..."