That's right, suck steel, you Khajiit bastard! Although you can't see my face behind this stolen helm, it's snarling under all of its scar tissue. I didn't spend the last three days forswearing meals and sleep, calling in sick from work, building my Morrowind character into a sword-brandishing vessel of pain and misery, just so you could keep those greaves. Hah!

What's that? This game is so realistic I swear I can smell the food this dead Khajiit was cooking -- whoa, wait. No, that's ... barbecue. I smell barbecue. Lemme open the window... Yes, those guys in the apartment downstairs are grilling hot dogs on the patio. Madness! I can't stop playing, I only just now got my stronghold... But look at them down there ... oh the sizzling meaty goodness ... I haven't eaten since 2:30 AM last night, when I poured the last of the corn flake crumbs into my mouth. Ungh. I'm drooling. Those bastards! Tormenting me with hotdoggy goodness, right under my window!

Hang on, the cretin in the chef hat, his back is turned. I didn't spend the last two days building my character's missile-weapon skill without learning a few tricks of the trade myself. Maybe I can spear one of those hot dogs by making a makeshift harpoon out of this sharpened pencil and some string. Oh yah. Yah, that's the good stuff. Take aim, take aim ... FOR THE GLORY OF THE EMPIRE, I POKE AT THEE, NOURISHING DOG!

That's right, boys. I'll keep distracting him with the 'dogs, you guys creep into his apartment and swipe the Morrowind disk. Shh! Don't look, I think I just felt some drool hitting my hat. Act casual, I'm gonna glance up and see if he's taking the bait ... AAUUUGH GOD MY EYE! MY EYE!