In my preparations for this week's column, I readied myself to give grilling tips for the final hurrah of summer, the Labor Day barbeque. For who amongst us hasn't had our share of charcoal briquettes disguised as burgers, and swatted the flies away from the molting potato salad? But then, my gweejer brethren, I found God. Yes, yes I did.

I come before you today to testify about the joys of Pastafarianism. I will lead you into the light of his glorious carbohydrates and delicious meaty goodness. Yes, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of South Beach, I will fear no noodle, for He is with me. His garlic bread and extra cheese do comfort me. He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies. He anoints my bread with oil. My Chianti runneth over.

Your plans for the evening primarily consist of a protracted excursion into no man's land, fighting dragons, trolls, bad guys, other drivers, or just one more turn in your god game of choice.

You've filled the cooler with libations, and set it within arm's reach of your digital mistress. You've practiced opening it and removing the contents without removing your eyes from the hypnotic glow of your multi-pixel circus.

Only one thing is missing from your night of electronic bacchanalia. Food. Food that can be eaten one handed, with a quick popping motion so as not to leave your keyboard and mouse uncaressed for any appreciable time.

Thus our theme for this week's gaming gourmand; one handed eating.

Using my awesome powers of persuasion and a few carefully selected photos of "that one time at band camp", I've convinced Certis to to let me test the waters of making Anatidaephobia an arena for the Gweejer Gourmet. Because, let's face it, gamers have priorities; sex, food, gaming, family, jobs. Perhaps not in that exact order, but probably fairly close. The idea of me becoming the Xaviera Hollander of the gaming universe was quickly vetoed. After all, we are gamers *with jobs*, and thus a NSFW front page column seemed a little much. Since sex was out, and gaming is pretty well covered, I figured Food was next on our Maslowvian Hierarchy. But how to talk about food, and have it related to games and the people who play them?

Writers, theyÂ're a fickle bunch.  It just doesnÂ't matter how much money you throw at them, or how many cases of bourbon you send, most of them will still flake out on you.   ItÂ's true.  On the scale of dependability, writers rank just a little above pirates, but below topless dancer on a coke bender.  (Some writers spend their lives trying to get below a topless dancer on a coke bender, but thatÂ's a different story altogether.)

IÂ've got nothing.  I mean, nothing.  Not a single workable idea.  Not a one.  I am bereft of inspiration. I am devoid of thought and empty of mind.  I thought I had some good ideas.  I was wrong. 

After a few hundred words, I realized that I had reached new levels of bad.  Not the Â"goodÂ" bad either.  WeÂ're talking about the Â"IÂ've read funnier cereal boxesÂ"…Â" sort of bad.  The sort of bad that makes a writer think about giving up the pretense of integrity and skulking away to write bodice-heaving formula romance novels.  Ok, maybe it wasnÂ't quite that bad.  But it certainly wasnÂ't good. 

 Like a bride ordering a mail order bridegroom, most gamers have no idea what to expect when the tuxedo comes off and they can get their hands on the code of a much ballyhooed and anticipated game.  Sure, there are those who may have lived with him first, (beta testers), but youÂ're sure they never went all the way, and besides, they only lived with him while he was getting ready to be delivered into your hands.

The armies stand poised, ready for battle. Their mounts steaming with the hard ride to the battlefields, the men and women readying their weapons and soothing excited pets. Just as battle is about to be joined, there rings out the clarion call of a trumpet, like the Grinch returning to Whooville, and in ride a battalion of Amazons, trailed by their tabbies, proudly proclaiming themselves to be the Weird Cat Ladies of Doom, come forth to strike a blow for all that is good and bright in the world. 

So, you say your man is addicted to games. Consoles, PCs and the violated packages of games litter your former love nest.  Cables now drape where the underwear used to land when he ripped it from your willing flesh.  You feel lonely, neglected, uncared for.  You call yourself a Game Widow.  Let us assume, for the nonce, that if you find yourself in this position, that you havenÂ't read my opus So You Want To Be A Succubus, or the record breaking follow-up, Selling Souls for Fun and Profit. 

 I just want you all know that I had planned to write an article on gaming and sexÂ"…specifically, how gamers could have better sex. Tips based on my experiences living in Amsterdam, going to a Catholic girlsÂ' school, being a gymnast, and the year where I shared a house with a gaggle of flight attendants. IÂ'm talking serious sex tips - sex tips so hot that itÂ's quite possible I could cause server meltdowns.

Hello, my name is DuckiDeva. I know that you may be questioning how a relative newcomer like myself has managed to sneak her way into the prestigious, highly paid and deeply coveted position of content fluffer. Well, it was talent, dedication, and hard work - the replay footage of which is banned in eleven countries and one southern state. (Sorry, Tennessee.)

Let us also not forget the power of nepotism; the ducki clan is strong, and this is but a step in our overall plan to take over important media outletsÂ"…leading to the inevitable rise of the Aquatic Temple as the One True Nest and of our crowning as Supreme Good Eggs of the Known Universe. (One may still wonder what IÂ'm doing hereÂ"…)

There are some pretty big shoes to fill in the content arena around here, or as Elysium might say, Â"voluminous waffle-stompersÂ", (ok, he probably wouldnÂ't...), but I shall endeavor to deliver some humor, some snark, some advice, and if youÂ're nice, IÂ'll give you a cookie. And while I will be noticeably absent during the holiday season, I wanted to leave you with this sage bit of seasonal advice.