I’ve been to the doctor, taken all the necessary appointments, swallowed all the right supplements, and filled out all the paperwork for the pencil pushers in Blizzard. The rumors are true: I’m being hired as a virtual reality tester for Universe of Warcraft (working title). I did sign an NDA (I think), but it would be against my nature to muzzle myself on this subject. If I lose my opportunity, well, it was meant to be: I do believe in destiny. I believe in the cosmos, and I believe in the stars, because they are visible. They are there to be seen. And we have much to learn from them. Such as?
The moon lets you know when it’s time to cut toxic people out of your life. My husband Rooster has never been supportive of my gaming hobby but I don’t have a source of income at the moment so he’s essentially keeping me hostage. I find sisters on the Internet but honestly all the hens on Twitter know is complaining about their husbands, drink rainwater, eat hot wheat and lie. I don’t like them. Samantha, the bitch, had the nerve to come up to me while I was foraging. She didn’t even say hello, just “I’m hungover.” And let me tell you: she looked it. Samantha looked terrible, but she’s not that bright and has made some very questionable decisions lately.
She thought it’d be good for her confidence to get spit-roasted by a bunch of peacocks for some “social media thing.” I grabbed her wing and leaned in so she’d hear me (dumb birds don’t hear no good): “Samantha, what you’re talking about is obscene. It’s pornography. I urge you to reconsider lest our friendship evaporate along with the few friends and family you have left. Freak.” Naturally she started crying hysterically and making no sense, so I left her in the woods. I think she’s missing or something because her husband called us the other day, all upset, said Samantha “left a note” that “incriminated” me, but um, excuse me? I can’t make anyone kill themselves or make themselves disappear. That’s just pathetic.
Rooster still doesn’t believe me about the Blizzard deal, and he’s suspicious of the Bethesda company, so I’ll probably have to Misery my way out of this marriage. Oh well, could be worse. I’d never cut my husband’s hackle off, that would be simply barbaric. However, I’m not beyond discreet poisoning. But I suppose I shouldn’t be publicizing these thoughts… who am I kidding, my husband doesn’t read my work. He never respected me, and I doubt he ever will.
Only online am I worth anything. I must dedicate my life’s energies to gaming. God has said, it was written… yes I will become rich by playing video games and none of you IDIOTS will stop me.
—Follow Monica Quibbits on Twitter: @MonicaQuibbits