The Tournémon, Part Four
Thus endeth the The Tournémon! That is to say, with grim undertones. Also: overtones. We could, without error, suggest that it is a grim sandwich - malevolent breads flanking sinister meats.
Truly, a sandwich to avoid.
It was our great pleasure to host you at Booth 1237 over the last week, the historic booth where the United States Constitution was signed. By… androids. When people profess to be absolutely indebted to their readers, I disregard it instantly as ritualized prostrations devoid of authentic devotion. This said, I am absolutely indebted to you. You may do what you like with that statement.
We only had occasion to leave the booth twice during the entire convention - well, three times. The first time was on Saturday, as after four days of working the floor we were allowed to hold a panel upstairs to the (potential) delight of the gathered throng. The other time was early in the day on Thursday, where we walked over to Hasbro’s booth and were startled to find that Eye of Judgement was there, ready to go on multiple kiosks. No-one was near it, I assume because they could not make sense of it. After playing it for forty minutes and then tearing ourselves away to return to the booth, we begged to be shown the game before the show on Sunday. I spent most of the week obsessed with it, modeling it in my mind, considering card combinations that would penetrate deep - sometimes startling myself with my own cleverness.
I would be startled again when Gabe beat me less than ten minutes. I took the second game, but only after a grueling, nearly hour long, mud-encrusted arena tractor pull. Eye of Judgement is going to sell me a Playstation 3 and a Playstation Eye - a card game - further evidence that I am batshit loco insane and you should stop reading immediately.
In an earlier "era" in webcomics, the thing of chief concern was "drama" - sometimes referred to as the drama. Internet Eras are currently equivalent to 46.7896 seconds, though the value shifts radically, having been at one time a mere five seconds in length. But to get back to it, there was an infrastructure devoted to these coursing dramatic energies, geared toward the active maintenance and endless mastication of Goddamned nanofeuds.
I’ve never found the case for enduring motherfuckers especially convincing. Even less compelling is the idea that, since I am connected to the same Internet, I must tolerate someone simply because they also create and upload .jpeg files. It’s a deeply flawed idea and I actively strive against it. Luckily, I need not strive very hard these days. Based on this week’s intense social payload, I could not want for better contemporaries.