You're Not Human, You're a Miracle!
Lowtax is still off working on a project so secret that I am giving away a secret just by telling you it's a secret. Despite being badly injured after rescuing a burning mummy from a house of gingerbread rubies or whatever it was Andrew suggested yesterday, Lowtax is determined to bring you the most entertaining entertainment that entertainment can offer.
I on the other hand, am here today to lazily provide you with mediocre entertainment which itself is derivative of something I read in the latest Pulitzer Prize winning issue of Maxim. Of course by "read" I mean, "looked at until my groin tingled funny".
Why Can't I Just Be Gay?
I have a very shameful skeleton in my closet. It is a stain upon my honor and self-image that I hide beneath my velvet tuxedo jacket and tear-away slacks. I shall reveal this secret to you all in the form of a turgid, unrewarding, and incredibly self-indulgent essay about myself. It's kind of like going on Jerry Springer with my midget lover, only without the trapeze artist who she was engaged to kicking my ass unmercifully. Hopefully he doesn't read this site. Or at all.Zack hides in an alley trying to avoid further hate crimes
Many of you reading this have some form of computer addiction. For some it might be the need to connect with people online in a way you can't in normal social settings. For others it might be the guilty pleasure of camping on the railgun or blowing some guy to pieces with your adorable double enforcers. Still others of you just like to troll the forums of humor sites posting Photoshop enhanced pictures of Ugly Cat emerging from a prolapsed rectum. Hey, whatever floats your clownboat.
My secret is darker, more time consuming, and far less sexy; I enjoy playing turn-based war games. There, I said it. Already I feel a great weight lifting from my shoulders and I don't mean the cyst; I had that drained weeks ago. I realize that being addicted to moving little gray and green tanks - or even better boxes containing symbols for large units of gray and green tanks - makes me possibly the lamest type of computer geek there is. I've seen pedophiles who shout their pre-teen conquests loud and proud, but never a war gamer in sight. When I bought Steel Panthers II, the disappointing sequel to Steel Panthers, it was wrapped in brown paper and the clerk eyed me suspiciously when I walked to the counter.
"Are you old enough to buy that?" Asked the clerk, giving me and my tan trenchcoat that I wear to conceal war-games the once over.
"It's rated 'E' for everyone," I said hopefully.
"Damn pervert," she muttered as she rung me up and sent me on my way.
On my way out the door I could hear the kids behind me happily purchasing the latest add-on pack for Duke Nuke 'Em, Duke In Japan: Duke Steals Japanese Christmas Again or whatever it was called. Someone else was proudly browsing the real-time strategy games near the door, unafraid to shout loud and proud that they love Dark Reign and Command and Conquer.
Feeling like a particularly vile nun rapist, I got in my car and drove home. Of course I picked up some Astroglide and carrots on the way back, as I can't play my war-games in my "strategy swing" without ample lubrication.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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