With so many new folks joining the Dtoid blogging ranks these days, I figure the time has come for me to join too. You may know me from my years of commenting on the front page, but do you really know me? This is my story.
It all started when I was born. The year was 1742. The place? The Great Kentucky Yak Farms of Nova Scotia. It was a cold, dry place full of hostile wombats and irritating salmon. Certainly no place to raise a child. And, indeed, I was the first baby born in centuries. It was such an event that folks came from miles just to see me. Some even brought gifts. It was then that I first got my tiny baby hands on a Game Boy. I remember it like it was 273 years ago. The pure joy of Super Mario Land. The extacy of Kirby's Dreamland. The realization that the Game Boy had a lot of land-themed games...
As a child I couldn't get enough of video games. But the great Scotian Game Embargo of 1753 really put a damper on things. All video games were outlawed everywhere. If you were even caught associating with cartirdge smugglers, you'd be thrown in jail. Or have bricks tied to your ear lobes. I forget which. Anyway, I wasn't just going to sit around and let the memory of video games get ereased from our culture. Luckily, my family's yak farm was big. Big enough to operate a smuggling operation right under my folk's nose. We used one of the old barns on the edge of the property to house the games under bales of hay. At night, I'd sneak over and use the yak-powered television to play games and then I'd right about them under candle light using ink and quill. I created my own underground newsletter about the latest games, encouraging folks to come on by the farm and try them out. We had some good times until the authorities caught on.
One evening a suspicious balding man with an eyepatch and a bad temper came on by. He said he wanted to see what the fuss was about. He found my newsletter that spoke of the magic of video games and his wife told him playing some might cheer him up. It worked. A bit too well. Mr. Eyepatch was known to be the town grump and when he strolled down the street with a smile on his face the authrories knew something was up. He eagerly told them of how he had played video games in my barn and they really changed his life. That's when I found myself on the run from the law.
I spent the next 60 years as a wandering nomad, going wherever the yaks took me. I trained with the monks of Scotland, learned to surf on the backs of dolphins in India, and lost an election to a bowl of noodles in Thailand. In my 60th year I was staying at a kindly hobo's home in the slums of Hawaii when he said something to me that changed my life, "Don't eat those eggs, they've gone bad." It was at that moment that I knew what I had to do. I needed to start writing about video games again. My life finally having direction, I started up my own blog that I ran for a good ten years while persued my PHD in Wumbo. As my education drew to a close, I was ready to take things to the next level and I phoned up an old friend of mine to build our own website. After about a year, it crashed and burned. But my spirit would not be crushed! I tried again only to leave shortly after because I had been usurped by an evil enchantress.
The next years were a sad and lonely time. I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it didn't even matter. It was a new beginning for me, and every new beginning is just some other beginning's end. I needed something else to get me through this semi-charmed kind of life. Also, Stacy's mom has got it goin' on. Or something.
So I came here to write about video games, and people might actually read it this time.