I am extremely bitter.
After several years, I realized, this is not a good thing.
Then I realized, nothing is a good thing.
All good things must come to an end.
That doesn't mean anything, because NOTHING is good.
I told my mom I'm a good person.
She said, "tell that to my dick."
My dick did not respond.
Sometimes I wonder if my dick will respond at all?!
My dick! My dick! You are my sunshine! My rain! My everything! I love you, my dick! Sometimes, I wish you were inverted, because inverted colors ALWAYS look totally BALLIN'. I fuckin' love inverted colors.
I told my mom how much I love inverted colors.
She immediately realized that I was referring to my transsexual identity. "MY IDENTITY IS NOT UNDER QUESTION! MY IDENTITY IS SECRET. IT IS SAFE. AND IT IS SACRED! GANDALF SAID SO!"

And then she cast a spell, proving, indeed, that SHE, and no one else, was the REAL Gandalf. My Gandalf pride was ruined. Ashes. Broken. I could not Gandalf anymore, and I knew this from this day forward. The Gandalf that had been, will be no more. And the Gandalf that was, is not. Gandalf, how I do adore you. You are the sunshine, in the library, with the spells. Spells of sunshine. I love the sunshine. So warm against my skin. Even warmer than your soft embrace. Please, please, please, sleep for me. And cast "sunshine" in the morning. I cannot live without it. You are my sunshine, because you know the spell. The spell to my heart, dear Gandalf.

And Gandalf said, "I like libraries." And that he did. He did like libraries. I told him, if I could be a library, I would. And he said, "but you're just some slut." And it was so. I was some slut. My sluttitude could not match the information on sluts in the library. This always made me feel so sad. So inferior. I couldn't match the sluttitude of even the tamest books. It's like, I read a book titled: "how to be a slut," but even that wasn't enough for dear Gandalf. My Gandalf, in my heart, desires a slut of enormous magnitude.

Gandalf. In the end, you are a librarian. That is good. But this is not. This is bad. This is very bad. I've been a very, very bad librarian. I tried to organize books. I cannot. Books, they evade me. I cannot become words, so books do not like me. I tried to be words. The words, they said, "you ARE NOT WORTHY," and I shall not pass. I never passed. I never passed anything. I never passed any notes, any thing that a teenager usually does. Notes. Notes are something for cool kids. I am not a cool kid. I am sorry, Gandalf. I know you love the cool kids. They are something that that flame thing, deep in Moria, is weak against. Moria, what good times, eh? Moria. Such deep, engrossing architecture. Moria, which inspires great awe, what great, ENRAPTURE. Gandalf, you are my one, my only. I know, you can only memorize a certain number of spells per day. If I could give you my levels, I would. My levels are yours to hold, and yours only, for you are the levels beyond the character sheets. You are the levels which are not listed, like a whisper on the wind, like the house rules which shall not be spoken. My whispers, to the DM, "please, if my character dies, my wife will leave me, and this shall only be known to us. A secret, forever kept in place by our hearts." And a sacred bond it shall be.

The sacredest of bonds. Bonds, which unlike bondage, are not kinky. I love bondage. Chicks tied up, me tied up, fucking shit is hot as fuck. But Gandalf, I know you are not into that. You are far too pure. Let us smoke and search the libraries together. Together, we shall form a bond of everlasting trust. And that trust, historians will look back and say:

"Shit, these guys trusted eachother. Trufax."

And that will be all. It requires an entire paragraph, the depth of our trust. It's not one of those business trusts, that I can't be bothered to remember what it means. In the depth of our love, that trust transcends mere business. Business is NOTHING to us. To us, the only meaning is the library, and smoking shit. Because you can't library correctly without smoking. I smoked something, but even that did not teach me spells, which are spells. Which do things. I'm sure you know.

Spells.
How magical.
Spells.
They are fantastical.
Spells.
They say 4d8!
I will abate!
And then, it misses.
How irate!

I rolled some dice.
I cannot admit my vice.
My vice, it is too extreme.
My vice, I raped some dude up the ass.
He was quite lean.
I would say, in terms of traps, he passed.

Gandalf.
I love you.
No I don't.
That would be totally gay.

Signed,
Some fag
(but not really. I'm not gay, I swear)