The right-hand page of a book is displayed, mostly full of text but illustrated in the lower right corner with a comic frame featuring Hamstard.
My name is Parson A. Gotti. I was born December 7, 1982 in Indianapolis, Indiana, United States of America, Earth, Reality, Sanity. I don't think anyone will read this, but if you are, then hi. Hope your day is going better than mine.
Until yesterday I lived a normal boring life in Columbus, Ohio, where I was wasting the money my parents spent to put me through college. Then something happened to me.
If what happened was real, then last night I was magically teleported to an alternate universe which resembles a strategy game, filled with tiny cute people, who made me their leader.
I can't put my finger on it, exactly, but for some reason I suspect this may not be really happening.
I think it's a lot more likely that I'm in some alternate state of consciousness, maybe due to illness, or injury, or one of my gamer-group spiking my Mt Dew with bad acid.
(They would do it, too, the boops. That's just the kind of insidious outside-the-box, Kobayahsi Maru tactic they'd need to get out of the no-win scenario I was planning to put them in. If that's what happened, then I give them a commendation for original thinking.)
I really think that's it, though. I am having a wish-fulfillment dream, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.
Either way, it raises important questions. If it's real, can I ever get home? Do I want to ? Can I die here for reals? Am I trapped in my own no-win scenario?
And if I'm dreaming... Will I remember enough to get a Hamstard strip out of it?
Hamstard: You better hope you're not dreaming, lipid-golem. If you dreamed you're Judy Garland, you've got bigger issues.