Age/Gender: 31, Male
Location: Philadelphia
Job: Scoundrel
I have to go return some videotapes.
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Entry #7
(I pulled the below image from the downloadable bioshock art book)
Hey, maybe I'm the only one, but I felt a little bad about slaughtering hundreds of SLIGHTLY crazy artists, musicians, scientists..some of the brightest, most creative people who ever lived. I mean so what if they had glowing hooks for hands and disfigured faces right out of an episode of the twilight zone.
Here I am, this practical nobody throwing DEAD CATS at them WITH MY MIND. AND KILLING THEM WITH SAID CATS. WHAT.
I don't even know why they all had stoves and refrigerators in their apartments. If using their plasmids was so much god damn fun, why didn't they just cook meals with em.
Also, I got a little tired of eating granola bars and washing em down with whiskey, only then to be a drunken, tired errand boy for the resident psychos. (who could shoot hornets and tornados from his hands. WHAT.
I have so many questions about they world these people made for themselves. In the end none of it makes any fucking sense whatsoever, but I know over-analyzing would ruin the mystique of it.

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