If you are reading this HELP Wakka has me chained down at some dark, undisclosed location and is poking me at decidedly irregular intervals to prevent me from knowing the sweet, warm embrace of sleep - at least, until I introduce myself. It also kind of smells here.
Five hours have passed since then and I'm finally willing to give in to his demands, if only a little. I-it's not like I'm doing it for him or anything, d-don't get the wrong idea, jeez!
Well. Might as well get it over with. Hello. My name is QB and I have an addiction to TF2. Actually, current theories put forth by top scientists 'round the world suggest that the real QB died two years ago upon receiving this curious game as a gift, having slowly swapped out his various body parts and organs of lesser importance in order to become "one with the game" as his last will and testament describes it. Unfortunately, this included the part of the brain that makes decisions, resulting in unwieldy loadouts for every class he plays. Most avoid contact with it at all costs.
Nevertheless! I hope we may get along at some point in the future. (And be freed of this rope - though he at least had the courtesy to use Nerds Rope™ so I can eventually eat my way out once some of the restraints are loosened. I'm feeling kind of hungry.)