OP, this is lovely, but if you do not mind, I will tell u a tale of our meeting.
So. ‘Polygrumps.’ I am - or should I say, have been - peripherally, aware of the Game Grumps. I never watched them - ArdwickofOnett, Achievement Hunter, and Yogscast; these were the channels of my childhood, and never, much, the Grumps.
Since, oh - 2015, or so (my Junior year of college) I have been blighted, friend OP.
I do not know why Tumblr has decided to scourge me with Game Grumps slash. Perhaps I shall never know. And, indeed, I bear you - friend OP - no ill will for the role you play in this curse; you are but a blade in the hand that thrusts, a helpless tool in the skilled clutch of whatever Algorithm has set itself to vex me.
But for the last five years, the only thing that Tumblr has recommended me is Polygrumps content.
My asexual heart remains unmoved. I lust only for the chrome-plated loins of my true love, Transformers; I feel no stirring in my breast for your cohort of mop-haired young men. Indeed, for many years, I have sworn never to speak to another on this matter in this, the notes of your artwork - for fear that the Algorithm might see it as a sign of my weakening will, and wrap it’s cruel talons ever more firmly around my feed.
But in this moment, I am weak. Six times this night, I have seen your artwork - a dozen more, the day before, and a dozen times before that, through the passing weeks. I grieve for you, that this exposure has been so wasted on the eyes of one who cannot appreciate it - I offer my hand, in commiseration, that the Algorithm has so rightly fucked us both.
Who are you, OP, passing, faceless, in the night? I have never known you - never sought the charming shores of your homeland - and yet I feel a kinship.
