Commonly I have to disclose my identity when talking to my friends or list a disclaimer to anyone I take on dates that I suffer from two things. I was diagnosed three years ago with a serious, and on occasion terminal, case of dorkism. I mean no harm in saying so, but I have a tendency to embrace my diagnosis and it has become a part of me. Thus I claim the official title of dork. The other thing, which could be potentially more harmful to my health is my frequent and deliberate delusions of grandeur. It is not uncommon for me to dream of fighting evil space empires, sailing the seven seas, or defeating a dark lord with naught but my hairy feet. The reason I tell you this is to know, you blog stalkers and you internet surfers, is that if we chance to meet, I must warn you, these kinds of things are contagious. If you’re going to hang with the Man at Arms, you’re going to be dressing up, taking down, or rocking out in the craziest of means. I have no shame. Period. I rock out to System of a Down just as much as I rock out to the soundtrack from Pirates of the Caribbean. Give me some arm greaves a decent breastplate and a sword and so help me I will learn how to use them convincingly so I can be cool. Not by everyone else’s standards, but my own, and that is what matters. What I've discovered recently, however, is that though I may suffer from these frequent bouts of oddity, it really makes life an adventure. I live for the thrill of the moment, and I embrace the hilarity and excitement of the here and now. Yeah, so I might do so dressed up as spider man. But I love the high adventure of a delusional hero.
CURSE YOUR SUDDEN BUT INEVITABLE BETRAYAL!!!! HAN SHOT FIRST!!! THE BALROG HAS WINGS!!! And so I end my piece.
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