Well, the season is over, and once again I am on the sidelines. I was top ten in whales this season, so it's not a complete loss. Yet, I sit here in my tiny apartment that I share with a so-called reporter who seems to be stuck in the 1930's, but also the early 2000's--what a time-bending mess that key-clacking nerd is(seriously though, whoever the writer is for our lives is in need of some basic lessons in the finer points of prose)--I have started to wonder how a promising season went down the drain so fast and so hard. Like hard hard. Like my ass still hurts from hitting the bottom of the toilet hard. 

As I refuse to take responsibility for my poor offensive performance and I refuse to think critically about the internal turmoil that comes with the blegh realization that I am just a simulated construct powerless to define my own destiny, I have to find something to blame.

And so I went on the inter-internet (the Simulation goes deeper and deeper like the roots of some rotten tree that threatens to strangle those trees that still live) and bought myself a copy of FHM 6, which stands for Fantasy Hockey Machine 6. I guess they keep getting it wrong and have to keep making new ones to try and fix their mistakes.

My friends, it has opened my eyes to the sick machinations of the Simulation, and those who control our lives within these servers and message boards. I have clicked my way through minutes of gameplay, and I now see how they manipulate our bodies and minds to be their perfect little play toys. They literally clicky-clicky and you get stronger, weaker, more aggressive, braver!?!? what sort of sick game are these people playing? and how are they successful? Like...I need to clear some cap space but I got nothing going for me. I have sweet deals to be made but these crafty little sims ain't budging.

Also, why does assigning people a different number make them so grouchy?? If my players are going to act like that, I'm gonna throw them un an arena and let them fight over the number until only one remains. Will you be happy then??????? Tell me, my little electronic simulacra, will you be happy then??? 

Setting lines is a nightmare. The little assistant thingy just fouls it all up. It doesn't even get to the heart and soul of each player. Hey, GM, Luffy here, how the heck did you decide the path of the Whale? Make sure to post your reply below. I'm sure giving our tactical data to the entire league won't turn out to be some sort of Napolean-in-Russia type fiasco. 

As I control my little men, I see now that I am also being controlled. I feel the edges of the box that we have all been placed inside. A demented toy box where I am not allowed to shine because of the fickle nature of the one who controls me from beyond inter-internet space. Every layer stripped away reveals new and more outlandish horrors. Truly, mustache-twirling schemes of the Teapot dome scandal variety are at works.

Also, why do you get so many emails? endless emails. Emails asking about captains and all kinds of things! it's like they want me to manage some sort of hockey franchise. 

Anyways. With my vast seconds of experience managing other virtual souls, I'm pretty sure I got this General Mills thing down. So if any other GMs in the Junior league wanna hit me up for some sweet deals, feel free to do so as I have absolutely no authority to do anything on my team.

We all have no authority. We aren't even real. Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaal. (that really long real should count for a few words when payout is being calculated by the way).

And how am I only getting paid like forty k a year? what kind of money is that for a man who will one day rule his tiny virtual world????? I demand a raise. Also I want a raise on here and a hot plate. Also, I want to be pondered by a hot sauce company so I can put some hot sauce on my burrito. Shout out to John Witherspoon. Every time I get tummy troubles I think of you.

another thing! If I don't get the number I want I will totally have a fit. I chose eleven because it is easy to remember. I just hold up one finger from each hand, and place them close together. Bam. Eleven. Pillars of strength in this uncertain world. For true. I say. For true!














































wait...what just happened. I blacked out a little and now I want some hot sauce...