I was minding my own business in the communal TA office on Missouri State's campus late one night when suddenly some guy hit me the in back of the head with a blackjack. On waking, I found myself bound and gagged in the back of a 1978 Pinto with a bad exhaust. I was driven to what I thought was a warehouse for SKG Studios, but what really was the basement of some guy's parents house, and forced to roll dice for 14 hours straight. At the end of 14 hours, the gag was finally removed and I was able to actually participate in the game, which I had become interested in. The psychologist would later call this a bizarre form of Stockholm Syndrome. Since then, I've been attracted to ill-smelling, ill-lit rooms where people make up character to play games. All the time, somewhere a voice in my deep subconscious is saying, "Please kill me..."
