There has been a strange uptick in interest, worship, and… pornography, I guess you would say, related to my compatriot Gabriel and I. Poker Night At The Inventory, made by our Telltale friends of long ago and resuscitated by the redolent Skunkape, has unearthed a very particular era of the Internet. Tumblr has been stoked and self-described "gay autists" are roasting in the hot heat. I've got great news, you Goddamn perverts. To the elders, we haven't gone anywhere. To the new initiate - those untouch'd by years or, indeed, taste - there are nearly thirty years of indiscretions for you to tilt and turn in your hand. It may be the most robust archive of its kind, because it encodes with it the feelings present at the time. And, yes. As you will learn: I talk like this all the time.
I should warn the new acolyte first and foremost that it's not all ambiguous eroticism around here. No sirree, Bob. You may come to learn at some point in your .jpeg journey that we are very, very bad, as my own literal children did at one point. And it's like, hey, listen. I know I'm a very bad person because people constantly tell me so, and also I tell me so, but I did it first around 1990, so really they're just agreeing with me.
I am familiar with Hyperfixation, so there isn't any reason to believe that we shall again see the sun. No new day for we woody, dried out husks, whose fruiting phase is over. It's just fun to see a crop of friendly strangers festooned in our bizarre trappings. It's like they came out of the woods, having recently plundered the most niche trove imaginable. Welcome to 1998 - let me welcome you to a literal time capsule, pre-influencer, all free, and you can have as much as you want. I'm delighted to learn that the kids are still weird as fuck, whatever their age might be.
(CW)TB out.
