"Are you channeling slam poetry?" I asked, perplexed. Eyes wide shut and flailing incoherently, this is the god of our New World Order. Mr. Scoop, Lord High GM of Shadowrun. I said as much. My mistake. "Doctor Mister Lord High Game Master Pope Monsignor of Shadowrun, thank you very much. Esquire. I'm a doctor in Uganda, goddammit."
"No, you're not", I replied.
"Don't test me, woman!" he ejaculated. "I have papers!"
"You have a Choose Your Own Adventure book about The Lost Jewels of Nabooti. Which might qualify you to cut people open in a third world toilet, sure. I don't know how these things work. I'm just not sure it qualifies as cyberpunk is all."
"Do not question the almighty Game Master! I ride the lightning. I am he that brings pixilated geographic goodness to your band of canny travelers over the InterTubes so that you may game without having to leave your homes. I make Windows dance like a monkey in a virtual environment on my desktop while I run Linux in the background. While I'm taunting 40 year old men who pretend to be 13 year old girls in AOL chat rooms. Because it seemed like a good idea at the time. And...I've got problems, Captain. I'm not right...", he began to trail off.
"Don't question your God", he finished quietly.
And, so he commanded. And so it was done. As far as he knows. He passed out shortly after that.