Shut Up RollinH: A Gaming Weekend Reflection

The blistered marathon gamer keeps on going -- his body merely a token, circling the course in the aftergame.

Which in and of itself wouldn't be so bad if he'd stop yammering on and on and on and on, like the incessant clattering of a loose shutter in the wind or the screaming of some punk's stereo as he cruises the neighborhood with windows down, endlessly looping and repeating, yowling away in peaks and valleys, reaching apex notes of squeakery followed by depths of almost inaudibility -- never going away entirely; droning on and on about the unfairness of life and the pain of feet -- blathering forth in the too-quick spasms of mania before slowing to crawling words of monotony that one can only hope to endure or survive.

But, as long as he ain't actually outside running somewhere or his head ain't locked in the stove, I suppose he ain't actually suffering too bad.