Delve

Oh, hello again,

I’m busy getting ready for the big event. Can’t chat for long, but I just wanted to… what’s the phrase? Touch your base?

Such an exciting time! I haven’t had this much fun since that raid group fell for the whole “Don’t look directly at him, and he can’t hurt you” prank. Ah, the screams of their main tank still echo through the chambers of my cold, black heart… ahhh.

Oh, where was I?

I’m making queso. I couldn’t find any of those canned tomatoes to mix in with it, so it’s really just melted cheese. I’m not sure what you’d call that… Queso Solo? Ha ha… Anyway, bring a bag of chips and whatever you want to drink. I’ve got plenty of mixers, and I hear Syn’Di is bringing a bottle of Gewürztraminer, whatever the hell that is. Probably some sort of demon brew, so drink at your own risk.

Yes, it will be quite a party, I think. Hoping for a lot of last-minute drama, assuming the site can handle the load…

Speaking of which… I got a call from my service provider this morning. It seems we’re using too many clicks for my Riddle, clogging up the Intertubes or something, so they’re going to “Throttle” me. And, while I explained to the gentleman that he did not, perhaps, understand the true meaning of that word and that I would be overjoyed to demonstrate it at his earliest possible convenience, he did assure me that there was nothing to be done for it, and I would just have to reduce the number of votes available to each voter… or the whole system might crash… mass panic… Net Neutrality or something.

So, with great regret, I must reduce each voter to one vote from here until midnight, Delve Standard Time. I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience. We all have to make sacrifices in such trying times, I suppose, and I, for one, am prepared to make a great many of them…

Happy New Year.

Oh, and somebody needs to pick up another bag of ice on the way over.

What?

Oh, and Mrag wants to know if you can pick up a couple of scratch-off tickets for him when you get the ice. Yes, Mrag, they know… Seriously, everybody knows… Fine… Mrag “The Sufferator” wants you to pick up some scratch-offs.

Hey, Mrag, why don’t you “Sufferate” your ass off my couch and help Gorefoot make the tiny sandwiches? He’s the only one besides me doing any damn work here. I mean… Gorefoot! What the hell, man? Is that celery? In my platfish salad? Celery?! What’s wrong with you? Just go sit down and watch the fights… No, just… No it’s all right, really… I can fix it. Just… Gorefoot, man… I didn’t mean it like that. Come on!

Ah… oh yes… bag of ice…

See you when you get back.