The jafdphabet expands.
Jackstar...
Jackstar...
Jack...
NanananaNananana JACKSTAR!!!
You and I are not on a first name basis--do you even know my
first name?
It is not necessary to be so... coy, when announcing these staffing changes, you know. Why contain the shi',y,'ness?
Come on in, and tune up on my machine. It is not as though you need to sing for your supper. Fuck, Doll Part: do you even fuckin' eat anymore?
I'm gonna teach you how to levitate over the ground like a banshee, hoovering up energon cubes from the surrounding landscape and yodelling your way across what remains of The Land, holy shite, look at how far we have come, towards the invisible midnight horizon. It does not welcome. It does not wait. It simply IS.
And IT knows that it is I, & I ALONE THAT CHARTED THIS COURSE. Past Scylla, past Charbdis, past public school, and pubic hair, and puppy dogs' severed tails and entrails in sandy, hooked pails.. ME.
I BROUGHT US HERE. ME.
I don't know what ewe did, but, hey, you're a Master now. Kewl. I am quite suitably impressed. Congratulations would be in order but I don't wanna be misconstrued with the meaning I can convey here: Punylings can congratulate you first, and I bet they don't even know what I am focused-in on yet. Give it time. These Punies aren't going to come around... but I did just drag them out of Hell and half-way back to Heaven, a mid-point that ended up being a few dozen miles outside of the center of Chicago, which seems quite natural to me, but I don't know about you: I don't know jack or shit about Chicago, only that for certain, it's pretty fuckin' far from Dagobah. One other point: no one selected this place. This is just where I got tired of pulling all the dead sled dogs and their zombie-deified drunken idjit "masters." Ye gods. I'm telling you: I'm hurt.
I'll recover. I don't have to heal. Healing is for dogs and women, and I am neither. I am A. Titan, and one question, at least, before I am able to let either of us roar (weird, huh? I am an even bigger deal now... and I don't even have a deal. Someone is feeling pole-axed, lol) and it is not, "Hey, are you green or pink here?"
Good question that can wait until after after dark. No, what I want to know is this: did your new gig/job/role come with its' own shoes to go with it? Or did you have to... shop?
Answer in your own time. Some fierce adoration can confuse.
Yet time will never kill ignorance. So, what are you rockin'? Like, boots? Or, pumps? Tell me they're not pumps. That shit is so hackeneyed. Are they... could they... be flats?
Look, I have to know. No dissassemble, no Stephanie, and no Flat Earth pilpul bullshit... but, flat shoes? I gotta wonder. How much fashion can there be in thee for only one tailor/seamstress to take? Speaking of which, I happen to need one, and those folk are hard to find.
Thank G-d I don't need a cobbler. by the way: I'm barefoot, bitches. Spread the word, as you like and as is Proper, and while gossip starts with some chinwag.... love starts with the sole.
p.s. THEY SABOTAGED MY BOOTS. MY ATLAS LEATHER BOOTS. THEY'RE COVERED IN GODDAM ALIEN MOLD. I AM NOT SHITTING YOU.
LISTEN ALL OF Y'ALL: IT'S A SABOTAGE. Whose ombudsman is this? Who? WHO? And: a tailor. Some trawling harlot is getting married next month--I am obviously not invited, pfftt, like there would even be room for me at the inn, but the important item here is this:
I need a tailor. And I have materiel. Rather a lot of it, surprisingly.
And... I have zazz. (Sassy is for subs, sadists, and THE DOOMED.) Trust me, there's RARE SPELL COMPONENTS HERE. I know NOTHING about this shit. But, hey, Master, huh?
Hit the books, Kid. I need sitreps and analyses in nine hours or CATS MAY DIE. Will I care? Fuck no. RATS WILL DIE.
Heads (blank)
roll combust. tupo