Dear Everyone I Know, Love, Cherish, And Even Despise, Up To And Including Various Forms Of Wildlife, Plant Life, Microscopic Beings, And The Warm Glow Of The Sun
I’m going to miss all of you once the clock strikes midnight tonight, and then strikes the next minute after midnight – midnight-Oh-One, I believe. At that time I shall be in line at my local Gamestop, waiting patiently for those poster-clad doors to open, and for my opportunity to purchase an object that is the closest thing to an all-consuming black hole that we have on earth: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.
As soon as the video game is in my possession, I shall scurry back to my darkened den, which will be warmed only by the glow of my television and the radiant heat given off by the burlap sack filled to the brim with 49-cent McDonalds cheeseburgers that I picked up on the way to home sustain myself as I traverse the fictional continent of Tamriel, exploring it’s snowy, Nordic-inspired province, Skyrim.
With an official play time that clocks in around 300 hours, I will be the first to admit that the journey I am about to undertake is monumentally, earth-shatteringly, retarded. But as a person that likes fake life way more than I do real life, it is a journey I am more than willing to undertake. And besides, I’m an internet comedy blogger – what the f*ck else do I have to live for? I’ve got dick jokes and not much else after that. So a 300+ hour adventure through a place made of 1s and 0s will be a welcomed change from my daily one man debates about the merits of adding the word poop to a sentence for added comedic effect. Also, poop. Damn, I’m witty!
When asked about what I’ve been up to from tonight through the next 3 weeks to 3 months, all of my tales will sound like the fever dreams of Tolken himself, as the little contact I will have made with the outside world will be supplanted by wild tales of assassinations, cat and lizard people, the senseless mass murders of entire tows, magic, and motherf*cking dragons. During this time I must be mindful of whom I am talking to, for fear that they misconstrue my uber-nerd obsessions with the ramblings of a self-defecating lunatic with an extensive rap sheet filled with an impressive array of gropings on city busses.
My life, as it exists at this very moment, will cease to be at the stroke of 12:01 AM. I have informed family members and non-gamer friends that I am embarking on an idiotic adventure that I may not return from. And if I do return, my legs will be atrophied, my skin pale, and all my conversational references will center around which class of character I prefer to play as.
“Do you know of any good restaurants in the area?”, a friend will ask.
“Well, if you head down to Whiterun,” I will reply. “There’s a lovely little inn that serves the most delicious mammoth trunk steaks you are surely to find north of the Imperial city!”
“Of course,” I will continue, long after my friend’s eyes radiate with fear for my mental health. “One must be careful as to not incite the wrath of the Giants that roam Whiterun’s adjacent plains! Only a well-equipped warrior or a mage with a strong command of the destruction magiks can survive their splintered clubs and brutish stomps!”
By this point in the conversation I will realize I am alone, but not truly alone, as I will still have Skyrim’s many denizens to keep my company. And then after that thought I will realize that I am truly alone. And then a dragon will come along and I’ll be happy a-gain!
Yes, it seems this weekend may be the final weekend of my life. If not, it will at the very least be a weekend in which all of my friends, family, and neighbors begin to question if that’s the smell of a dead body emanating from my apartment, or if they’re merely imaging the smell because they think the lack of movement of my front door means I might be dead.
It doesn’t matter either way; it all amounts to one hell of a good time for me.
But seriously, if you’re my neighbor and you smell something funny coming from my apartment, call the cops. I might be dead.