sometimes I feel as if, my soul is being crushed under the weight, of my model collection. And at the point of weight that I feel, it is least, felt, in the wallet, as it is emptied, rather quickly, by the hobby that I so love. Sometimes its a woman playing solitaire that inspires the depression of modeling the world, in miniature form. And other times, its sheer boredom and simply running out of material. This is the article I was jokingly (at least I hope so) suggested to write.
Something about the fact of writing in a fictional universe, for plastic men, that cost ten times the price of army men (ten times? who am I kidding, more like thirty) and for all the same enjoyment. At the same time it creates an elite few, who become the basis of lifetime friends. As we journey through the horrible universe of the forty first millenium, things get darker and darker as both the universe expands into the eleventh level of hell, and Games Workshop expands into the fifty first level of hell. And we as gamers are slaves to their will. As one is indeed enslaved so often by the things they love. Perhaps its the fact that Sleep is overtaking certain people or perhaps its the fact this article is going nowhere. But I will leave you all with the final thought of Kurgan, from highlander. ITs better to burnout, than to fade away! *ends article with gay as fuck and totally out of character spin*
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