A Ceaseless Fountain of Shame
Our own Gabriel tracked down some of my “writings” while he was rifling through the debris of his adolescence. Would that the bleak evidence of a mind in tumultuous development were cast outward from the Earth, there to careen or be annhilated.
In my defense, I didn’t have any idea how to do what he was asking me to do. I still don’t. I never imagined that I would write as much as I do for Penny Arcade - the only reason there is a “news post” to begin with is that we had extra space in the original site’s HTML table, and the navigation buttons threw the page off if no text was present. I would fill that space with meandering garbage, a tradition that has held to this day.
You may click on this image to retrieve a larger version, though I can’t say with certainty that looking at it any larger than this won’t kill you outright. It’s not my handwriting, he must have taken it down over the phone. He didn’t yet own a computer. I believe we were 17.