One of the more depressing results of my decision to step inside the sausage factory of games journalism (and that's a moniker that's accurate in a number of ways) was the realization that the shady world of shady, cash-filled envelopes being passed around in shady backrooms by shady men in shady shades I envisioned in earlier Critical Miss strips doesn't actually exist.
Instead of bags of unmarked bills traded for public opinion, we get journalists whoring out their Twitter accounts (and yes, that is advertising, and yes, it's inappropriate) not for money, or influence or *Skeletor Voice* power, but for the chance to win a PS3. A chance to win a PS3.
That's just embarrassing.
Please don't sue us.