Dear Destructoid reader, I love you

5:16 PM on 02.14.2008   |   Niero

178 comments

Hey baby. Come here.

*shoves forearm into your pelvic zipper*

Come a little closer. Yeah, right up against that monitor. I love the way slamming your face against the CRT makes your forced lips pucker up like a crushed goldfish on a plaque. We've been seeing each other (and other people) for what, maybe two years now? Who knew polygamy between a million partners could be so good. I don't even know all their names, and neither do you. Its dirty but we're not hurting anybody and they like it that way. We like it. It's been good. Not like a trashy novel good but more like a found-a-Corona-and-lime in my-pocket while stranded-in-a-bottomless-pit-type good. You reading us is like losing the lottery for thirty years then spontaneously being showered with all the ticket stubs while walking down the sidewalk, causing nearby buses full of retarded school children to crash but nobody gets hurt and lawsuit checks are instantly disbursed to everyone bleeding.

My lovely Destructoid reader, you don't know how you emotionally put hand in a jar of mayonnaise for fun and make it so I don't have to deal with the horrible feeling of taking it out and being compelled by the will of Satan to wipe it on your ex-girlfriend's dog as she's dealing with the fat eviction officer and police in the hallway. But somehow you do. In your subtelty, your lulz, and your generous passive contribution to our site-side analytics. You do so much for me. I'm embarrassed to admit that I even measure of your affection on excel spreadsheets to show people who don't believe we feel this way about each other. You're always on my mind.

Maybe that's all wrong and I'm at a loss for words, but there's just something about you that I have to try say today.

In the time we've been together I've come to realize a few things, and I'm not really good at talking about this stuff, but since it's Valentines Day I thought I'd take a chance. You see, before you started reading Destructoid I was lost. I was into collecting LEGOs, loose women, and cans of tuna for reasons I can't explain.

I was spending lonely nights with fish taco breath while playing the same damn flawed FPS's without a community to share my intimate desire to want to punch a game publisher square in the gonads. I would sit in my bed, arms around my Super Nintendo, wondering if anyone else out there under that same moon also had their console turn yellow over time as a result of a freak manufacturing accident years ago. Somebody to sing the Katamari Damacy soundtrack with. Somebody to send a Konami code sweater when it got cold.

Sure, I flirted around in a few other gaming communities but I never really felt at home.  There was a void. I was a cube without a companion, a Bowser without a cock-teasing bitch. I knew somebody out there must feel the same way but I had no way to find you. But you were out there the whole time looking too. It's funny that we're here today. Naked. With a burning hot spatula ready to go.

Those nights! I would go to dinner on my own. It would be me standing there awkwardly at the microwave and while that red Chef Boyardee sauce gyrated against the luminescense of the flickering appliance bulb -- a symbolic portrait of these lonely thirty years of not having the nads to pursue my childhood ambitions all wrapped up in high sodium noodles and invisible cancer waves a foot away from my face. 

I can't remember when we met, how we got this far, what the circumstances were, or anything. It was part fate, part luck, part struggle, and part ... robot head things ... made of air conditioner ducts and reflector bulbs from an auto parts store. Ok, so it's admittedly a little odd. Yes, its an internet relationship, I won't kid myself. But its honest. Its real. Staffer or lurker, regular or addict. Whatever it is, its real, and that's made all the difference.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm forever in your debt. I always wanted to be a part of the game industry. I never fit in. Still don't. But I gave it a shot and you were there for me. Supported me. Helped me grow. Helped me see. And more than ever, I now know what I have to do.

From the bottom of my heart, thanks for reading Destructoid.