I first met her in a strip club. That should have set the sirens blaring. Don't believe the "new man" crap - we all long for the Angel in the kitchen, the Whore in the bedroom. But I guess I should have searched for a good girl to corrupt, not a bad girl to reform.

In a communal hot tub, drowning in the scum of 1000 avatars, I longed to be clean of the past, to wash away the cynicism and self-loathing I'd carried since the Seclamine™. And when she smiled, my aviators fogged, and I thought I could be reborn.

This was taken the night I became hers. An express ride, via the Blue Lounge, to the edge of heaven, a love scene who's choreography we could only applaud. The old Gideon was gone - to paraphrase my buddy Jack, she made me want to be a better man.

A girl with an attitude, and a big ass gun. If this doesn't make you hard, you're already in rigor mortis. She was Bonnie to my Clyde, but we would rewrite the final reel. After our first job, we decided to find a hideaway on Nantucket, a beach on which to live out our days, before our past came knocking.

Did I mention the sex? The amazing, mindblowing, spontaneous, raw, overwhelming sex? She pulled my strings like a wooden marionette, and I jerked and kicked with the animal rhythmn. And like a junkie, I thought the high would never end.

But even as the sun set over our beach, there was a cancer in paradise. Betrayal, jealousy, lies and accusations. A wandering Messiah once told me "Argue for your Limitations, and sure enough, they're yours". And like a self-fulfilling prophecy, my suspicions created their own reality.

Why, why did it end this way? Goddamn you, you siren - you ripped my fucking heart from my chest like candy from a Piñata. OH GOD, OH MAKE THE FUCKING PAIN GO AWAY! ...... And then, clarity. I realize, it's time to say hello to my little friend.

I've come here, to the roof of The Million Dollar Hotel, where I'm writing this note. It seems as fitting a place an any. I'm not kidding myself, I know exactly where I'll go. And this is as close to Hell as you can get without being there. Why make it a long trip?

So I'm leaving this note, so that when they find me, you'll know. Despite what the press might crow, it wasn't "a single self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head" that killed Gideon Television.

No, it was Beauty killed the Beast.

Peace, Love, Empathy
Gideon Television, Superstar ™"