There's just so much I could write right now that I'm paralyzed, completely traumatized by the overwhelming opportunities. (Which is probably a good thing from most opinions.)
All these years of research into paintball's own man behind the curtain, our sport's only invisible boy, our one and only ayatollah of rock'n'rollah, the Lambini Countach ... and someone else beat me to it, parodied a parody. Now I have to prove that Hardcore, the sixth mystery man, is cloning the dreadlocked master of disguise who emulates the paintball offspring if Liberace and Keanu Reeves reproduced? I may as well prove that TJ invented him.
My head hurts. I can handle not having any game, and not being able to complete a sentence. But this is too much.
I need a hug.
Larry