If only I could be so grossly incandescent.
I’m now a Gwent gent, so get bent while I vent about the dent Gwent has put in my…..tent? Scent? Clark Kent? Okay, I’m done now.
No matter how cool you look, please get to the fucking payload. Please. And stop picking Hanzo for goodness sake people.
I stroke my crystal ball for predictions, and then get my hands dirty examining a bloated corpse.
Ken, please hire me. I will do anything for you, just hit me up, slide into my DMs, I’m free whenever.
The bomb has been planted.
As an armchair shrink, I often wonder what the hell they are up to next, and what the fuck they are thinking.
As an armchair physician and hypochondriac, I have diagnosed myself because there is something wrong with me, apparently.
There are no mistakes in games, just happy little accidents.
Spoilers: it doesn’t matter.