Another day, another few thousand dollars. Gromo finds himself working late by his lonesome yet again. Oh wait, scratch that. Duggy is around, too. Why couldn't it have been one of those young, horny contract workers instead? Life is not fair, thinks Gromo. If life was fair, fresh faced and yet full bosomed women would be falling at Gromo's feet...and not only because his mouthwash wasn't working particularly well. Gromo would also regularly win the lottery, if only life were fair. His manager would take over from Prometheus on weekends and let the eagle eat his liver, if only life were fair (a suitable punishment for being nasty to poor old Gromo during the week).
And yet Gromo is such a nice guy...why does everybody hate him?
Besides such trivial matters, Gromo has now settled down to write a book. One might ask why indeed Gromo is being allowed to write a book, seeing as Gromo is not a particularly good writer.
One might also answer that it is not one's business to ask such questions.
The book is pure fantasy, originally stemming from Gromo's overwhelming desire to parody Harry Pothead, subsequently influenced by the many David Gemmell novels he has read since. Mostly, it's a way to cope with the loneliness, with a faint hope that a successful book might buy him some popularity for a short while.
Poor poor Gromo.
For better or for worse, you're not alone Gromo. Ol' Lothar is here for you. Idealistic and stupid, I may be. But I'm loyal.
Keep your chin up, kiddo.
