[Note that this blog post is being dictated, as Mr. Hardy felt typing posed too great a challenge.]
I don’t … I just can’t … there’s ponies. Ponies and Amish. And they’re all thrown together and statted out. Statted! Stats for ponies!
The world used to make sense to me. Mr. Johnson … he wore a suit. And he screwed you over good, and you took it! And yeah, there was gunfire and grenades and spells raining down all over, but it all worked! But now, now you kids with your Tumbles and your Instant Grahams and your, and your …
… couldn’t hold a candle to even one of Betty Grable’s legs! What was I talking about?
This adventure. Yeah. Did you see the cover? I didn’t know hallucinogens that strong even existed. Holy freakin’ cow dung on skateboard. You should see it. Gaze upon the madness. Gaze!
And here’s where it gets horrible, where my reality and my nightmares twist into some terrible pretzel of madness. I have that horse! On the cover. She’s in my house!
It’s just … I can’t … I can’t think about this. So take it. Take your adventure with the ponies and Amish and war buggies, and you go play it. It’s a Mission, they tell me! It’s real, they tell me! Do what you want with it. I gotta lie down.