There are a few things I am an absolute sucker for, just suckin’ like crazy, and one of them is dice. Or, several of them I guess. It depends on how granular we’re being. I thought that I was in remission, but here at PAX I’ve been thrust into the fire like a hot poker – a hot poker that for some inexplicable reason wants to buy dice.
I wish my perverse desires were merely constrained to polyhedrons; even polyhedrons hewn from the timber of the sacred cross could not slake my hungers fully.
I long for premium upgrades to premium upgrades. If there is anywhere on earth a mere cardboard chit that could be elevated, ascended even, the coins in my pocket begun to dance and rut. Miss me with those wooden cubes, those wretched facsimiles of coins. Give me alloy’d cubes with heft and virtue. Give me coins plundered from forgotten wrecks!
Among fans of wrasslin’ there is the term “smark,” which indicates that you are a conscious mark – one who knows the lingo, fully grasps the system. A connoisseur, if you will. Not me, and not about my accessories. I’m just the regular kind of mark.
(CW)TB out.