R.I.P. Peter Steele
A paragon of goth is lost. R.I.P Peter. :(
Posts
Whyyyy?
Time was, we used to game* for days. There was a flophouse apartment, of near the lowest ilk, with a blue mix of shag mess on the floor. It had two floors, and there were beds strewn about. We all worked at crap jobs , and made things like Magic Cookie Bars to share whilst running down kobolds or evil shadow dragons or the like. Concomitant with this gaming and flopping were the presence of many an oddball. My GM** is the bestest in the world, so she attracted itinerant gamer types. One such fellow traveler was a guy named George, a portly, blonde and bearded soul who clearly was operating a few notches below fourth gear in the old brain box department. He wasn't mentally disabled, so much as just slower than most. So one day we're sitting around between battles and such, and he whips out an acoustic guitar. "Oh," I think. "Maybe we're going to see where his genius lies." So he starts strumming, saying he's going to play a song he wrote. I agree to ...
You Can't Tell Anyone Anything
You just can't. And if you do, they will hate you for it. -------------------- p.s. Blogposts that are less than 140 characters should've been a tweet.