[Jacek does a vocal jazz improv, his lonely billionaire friend playing on saxofon.]
Don’t talk about me, talk about me, don’t talk about me, talk (Mmm)
(Yeah) Talk about me, don’t talk about me (Ooh), talk about me, talk (Yeah)
Don’t talk about me, talk about me (Mmm), don’t talk about me, talk (Mmm)
(Yeah, baby) Talk about me, don’t talk about me (Mmm), talk about me, talk
But seriously, stop talking about me. I am not important. Interactive fiction is. If you truly love me, ignore me. Smother me with your loving silence.
Adam, had you been a character in a Victorian novel, releasing private correspondence to a third party without your correspondent’s approval would have gotten you ostracised for life. You can redeem yourself only by writing an epistolary IF game where I get to be Marquise Isabelle de Merteuil.
Conrad, think of all the time you could have used hypnotising girls into liking you instead of wasting it on Pudlomania.