Time, the great and terrible beast that prowls the fading footsteps of every man, has opened its greasy jaws, and the minutes and hours and days gather up their funereal skirts and plunge, wailing, into the clotted throat of what has been, to taint and putrefy in the bowels of memory, and thence to wreak tumult and cataclysm in the rectum of tomorrow. That’s, like, a metaphor or something. More like “something”.

Anyway, my time here at MyGaming is over, and I’m off to do other stuff. The official line is something about restructuring the coffee allocation at HQ, but don’t believe a word of it – the truth is that construction work on my Death Star is almost complete, and I have an intergalactic war to wage. I can’t really disclose much more information than that (supervillainy is a competitive business), but it may or may not involve jetpacks, acquiring the secret recipe for Rascals’ Logie sauce, and bringing back the dinosaurs. Not necessarily in that order.

Also, I really, really need a holiday – for months now, I’ve spent more time writing about games than actually playing them, and that’s totally not cool. I still haven’t finished Skyrim. Then again, I don’t think anybody has. Pushing Lydia off cliffs was simply too distracting.

To all the readers who loved and hated me, those who loved to hate me, and that one weirdo who hated to love me (I know you’re out there), it’s been super fun. Have some complimentary fudge on me*.

*There’s no complimentary fudge.