I discovered something this weekend. Let me share it with you.

Do not buy Torchlight. It will consume you. I mean it. The person you used to be will be dead. It will be crushed, ground up, and torn apart by the gnashing teeth of Torchlight. Your mashed remains will undergo alchemical transformation in the great belly of Torchlight. All that was real and true and alive about you; the dauntless essence of your human spirit; the untouchable center of your being that knows love and joy and hope, all of that which once made a full if slightly ugly human will be destroyed. It will be transformed into a toxic sludge that fuels Torchlight’s hideous eternal unlife. And when it’s drawn out the final ounces of vitality from the pulp of your being, it will leave your remains — unrecognizable, desiccated — in a ditch filled with the mangled lifeless wretches of those who came before you.

And you will lie there. Not quite dead but not quite alive. A mockery. The world will grow dim as you’re slowly buried in the bodies of others. You will reach out to the machine, the monster that did this to you, and in a voice like two gravestones scraping together you will say, “More Torchlight.”