With my recent World of Warcraft obsession of late, a lot of you can, perhaps, be forgiven if you've come to the conclusion that I live in a pool of my own feculence, smelling much like a dog's discharged anal gland in the full beer-fueld glory of my one-note obsession. I don't, for the record. I probably put in 6-8 hours a week, and I haven't been playing any other games, which makes my obsession the equivalent of most of your hobbies.

Other people have complained about all the WoW posts. That 1-2 posts a day I've made, after all, accounts for almost 3.5% of the day's posts. I can see how that would be trying for you: it's sad that more of this site doesn't pander specifically to your omnivorous interest of choice. Sorry about that.

Anyway, after my recent slate of posting, a number of you sent me a link to this post over at Soul Kerfuffle, in which a hardcore raider laments the last year of his life, flung away to pretend to be a fruity little imaginary elf living on a far-off Blizzard server. It's a good read — all his other interests and talents disintegrate, his life goes tits up, he gains thirty pounds, his friends eventually stage an intervention. But, I assure you, this guy is not me. I can quit anytime I want. Seriously. Florian Eckhardt

The View From the Top [Soul Kerfluffle]