Hark, fair gamers, lend me thine ears and hearken to my counsel. “Touch grass,” thou sayest, and many do take this as a scornful jest—an insult, a barb meant to prick the tender heart of those who dwell in digital realms. Yet I prithee, mistake not this phrase for a dagger in thy back, for in sooth, it is naught but wholesome advice, an elixir for thy weary hand.

When thou dost engage in games of intense and noble strife, thy hand, alas, grows moist—like dew upon the morning grass, yet more troublesome. This sweat, that vexing liquid, doth render thy grasp feeble and unsteady, so that thy gaming mouse slippeth from thy hold as if it were a serpent in the garden.

But lo! By touching grass—green and gentle earth beneath thy feet—thou gatherest unto thy palm a dust of nature’s making: dirt, and the tiny motes that the wind doth carry. This humble particulate, as chalk to the climber, doth drink up the sweat from thy hand and maketh it dry as the desert air.

Thus, when thy foe or friend bids thee “touch grass,” think not of insult, but of kindness, of aid. They wish thee to rise above thine own limits and perform with the grace of a hawk on the wing, to seize victory in thy gaming hour.

So heed these words, dear gamer: touch grass, and let thy hands be dry, thy spirit lifted, and thy gaming prowess unparalleled.

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I dream of becoming a carrot. When I'm home alone I dig holes in the backyard and stand in them, put lettuce on top of my head from sun up to sun down. I would steal sun tan spray from stores and use it until I turned a bright orange. People tell me it's impossible for me to be a carrot but I know I can be anything I want to be. Please support me in my grand adventure.