grin, motherfucker, with a mouthful of evil! anyhow, what the fuck has this soldier's campaign been lately? why, drinking cocktails! i've done it at home while watching the lost season finale (prediction: the swan was holding the supernatural forces of the island in check & thus next season will be a return to the wtfpolarbearisms), & at secret bars (see, stephanie was in town, & i took her to the double happiness, where we met up with peter & katie & meggo & then absorbed some l.a. guy). philter, shine dark! we keep it full of evil lamp oil, you see, from the deepest trenches of the sea of stars. darkness defines heavens, you know, & i can bottle it! i'll make a fortune. oh did i mention i will use my many golden ducats to finance a fleet of sleek ufos with which to ABDUCT. this is how a true, high-heavens baller rolls, ya heard! then i'll spit in your coffee!
you know the sap of the world ash bleeds black? or at least that is the only theory i've come up with to explain all this inky amber we're trapped in. hearts hidden beneath hoary roots, bait to lure the dragon into doing our dirty work for us while we lurk up here in our cobwebs all about middle earth. & when the trunk is laid low we'll spin our silk between the minarets of ife once more, ain soph or no. so don your muslin garments, one after another, until you are choked with cloth, & then know that the count of bones has drawn to a close. we rise up as one body. knifey-night, bitches!