fuck learning to swear like a barbadian. i mean, i havn't seen barbados. & i know carolina. so i must get out of this shit. i mean, i'm a soldier. i'll swear the way'n suits me best. blasphemy. i'll toe to toe with the "almighty" (notice them quote-ation marks, son? as means, best as i can put it, i'm fuckin' kidding) & call him all manner of wickedness. hell, ain't like i havn't done already, i reckon. 65 million years of it & nothing has changed. 'cept the pole star, i guess. less dragons, too. can't say as it bothers me none. i'm just making time till i can shed this coccoon & get to be bussiness at hand. the bussiness of killing. but hell, what do i know? i don't know from killing. i mean, sure, that one time i sprayed oven cleaner in that guys face & wrapped a plastic bag over his head, but thats all beside the point. i'm talking mother fuckers on the head of a pin, comprende? angels & all that rot. hell, i'm gonna toss back another glass of wine & call it a night. i'll call it a god-damn. i'll call it whatever i want. i'll not shut my trap in the face of damnation. i'm already walking in the dark lands outside of his sight. turn your eye my way & i'll put it out. honest injun.