In high school our protagonist and his brothers gathered the school’s best and worst Smash Brothers players to do battle during lunch.  Thinking of it now, they weren’t so much the best or worst as much as they were just the friends of.  A group to which I belonged.  Near the end, unfortunately, but I made it in there.  I was a friend of the middle brother.  Not that any of this really matters, come to think of it.  Neither do those rounds of Smash really.  That was only the introduction.  It wasn’t until this story’s hero acquired a spare sometime near the end of his high school career that he and I really started to hit it off.  About as well as the Hindenburg.

This comic may warrant a sequel.  I will admit there isn’t a whole lot going on here.  The story of our lives.  I wanted to do a comic or a couple comics of my appearing against the will of one man to watch video games being played.  Is that really necessary, though?  I mean, the end of this story is obvious.  He killed me.  Eventually the guilt was too great and now he’s got my corpse on strings in a comic, and my voice in blog posts.  Things could be worse.