Lagumbay.com Reflections on Love, Rage, and Fear

Great Microbeasts, courier of thoughts into the Digital Realm, you continue to grant me your favor. Together we have banished many evils from this other world. Together we defeated Zeus. Together we helped bring rulers of both the Helghan and the Mishima Empire to justice. Together we reunited a young man, however briefly, with his long lost father in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. You and I are one. O Microbeasts, I beseech you to come forth into this realm and make arthritic the tiny hands that created the Playstation 3 Dual Shock controller which malfunctioned in the middle of my Indy 500 run in Gran Turismo 5. May their hands fumble with the tiny screws, may they be unsteady in soldering the delicate red and black wire connections to the rumble motors that were so quick to snap. May they be unable to secure the small sponge bar that cushions the contacts. May the rubber nubs that act as springs slip out of place as they try to assemble the well-engineered-if-you-didn’t-have-to-open-it controller. Most of all, O Microbeasts, courier of my thoughts, send them this message: To the worst offenders, whoever designed the way the trigger buttons are seated — R1, R2, L1 and 2…F U. May all that they build in their lives fall apart at the final step causing them to start over again and again. May they recognize this Sisyphus-like predicament and opt instead to die as Lord Kratos died, unleashing hope unto mankind.

All you cursed nomadic souls unjustly damned to roam the earth for eternity,
focus all your bitterness and rage unto my silent song of sorrow.  May your
weary feet receive momentary rest as you help me bind and fulfill this
sacred curse upon Blythe.  May that wretched city find itself in isolation,
so far away from civilization that it finds itself many years behind in
technology and culture.  May its population be enslaved by undeserving
wanderers whose only memories of Blythe involve sustenance, fuel, and
relieving themselves upon its god-forsaken ground.  May it be the gathering
place of the worst in every race, religion, and culture.  May it forever be
despised, visited begrudgingly, and left behind gladly.  O wise nomadic
souls, make true this sacred curse.  Oh wait…nevermind.

Lord Abigor, commander of the Legions of Hell, Master of War and keeper of secrets that lead to victory, be glorified by the beating of the battle drums.  I honor you by offering all my anger and my hatred.  Augment the wrath of your army with my rage.  Lead a destructive onslaught upon the arrogant overachieving sons of bitches that constantly shatter my fragile self image.  May they find their lives hollow and incomplete.  May they suffer eventful lives attaining everything but the things they long for.  May they die lonely and forgotten in a flood of their own tears.