Ladies and gentlemen I’d like to introduce myself; new, improved, and one year removed: the writer formally known as El Cid. I don’t have a symbol like that Prince character. I just have flava–yes flava– and not a bit wasted. If you wonder what I taste like, I’m better than your favorite food; and if you want to eat me, that’s completely understandable. But eat me you cannot, I regret. You can only read my articles, savoring them word by achingly delicious word as your salivary flow increases beyond your control, and you find yourself hungry beyond conventional satation. For this hunger there is no remedy but reading my entire catalogue of works before your yearning, your all-consuming desire for fulfillment seizes the reins of your psyche and you surrender control. I don’t wish this on anyone and I know how much you all value your underwear, so when reading my work, always devote a five to six hour block of your time to me and only me to avoid unwanted absolute abandon.
So pull yourself together and push that big, hungry, shirtless fat man in your mind back into your subconscious where it belongs. So what can you call me? That depends on who you ask. To Pete and Eric I am Roach, (an unfortunate result of an unfortunate last name) but if you had a choice would you go by that name? No, I shall choose a pseudonym to pay deference to an emphysemic, wrinkled faced individual who has weighed heavily on my life ever since I met him last year in a smoke-filled European apartment. My name is to be Saki. He would run happily in and out of my bedroom as he pleased, but that isn’t the half of it and I will not risk boring you with the lurid details at this time. No, the rest of this story is one for another article when the reader will satisfy himself anew on the ample meat of my writing.