What's wrong with being social, Justice Warrior?

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deep dish peat moss

the grizzled voice of a veteran Justice Warrior cacophenes off the highschool bleachers above you

For four long ages Campusia was ruled by the iron tyrant Michael the Letterjacket. I arrived in his final year, at the time but a level 15 dual-class Trapper/Keeper. I had a reputation already; peerless on the battlefields of recess - Choir still sings of my impossible sieges, turning the enemy's own playground scoopers on their sandcastle walls. So, renowned as I was sure to be in this new land, I attended Michael's banquet in my first week, where we feasted on the realm's finest pizza, from the place that was on Breaking Bad, and sipped opulent Zima from extravagant red cups. I made a point of introducing myself to the nobles, young handmaidens had been whispering of how I was likely to be Michael's successor as Student Body President and if I were to campaign, this would be the best time to start; long before the DM could even roll for encounters. As I finally reached Michael I told him of my plans, and I asked him to bequeath upon me the title of viscount. He thought long and hard (at least, long and hard for Michael the Letterjacket) before flicking my nose and telling everyone my name was Viscount Boner, and that I had one (a boner) when I met him (I didn't).

What's wrong with being social, you ask? There is simply no room for light in the darkness of our age. Ascend friends; seek hermitage; only alone may you avoid the curse of a phantom boner.