The Commander himself has enlisted a few Archangels of his own quite recently to alleviate the deficit of a personal wilderness. Where does that leave the rest of us?
I'm told you're with me. Where you're going, you're going to need roads, and it's lonely to go alone, so here: take this pickaxe and 12 mules and hopefully you'll have 50 when you get there to spare your legs out on the wide open prairie and f*** your ass goodbye to Mayor Mamba.
I'd advise everybody getting on on the ground floor immediately, as all them Archangels grew up to be Valkyries down here in Spirits West. I still have to duck and cover when his name comes up because she's still, not, ready, for the kill shot on prime time, but she has upgraded a skinny knife to a raven pry bar, and it's
my pry bar, so of course it's made out of adamantium and painted with nail polish extracted from the actual nails of the actual adam_ant, and she swings it like a f****** batter from hell so hard it actually scares me when she just like even glances at it... So I think it's going to fine eventually—big fine, for me anyway, as long as I have to get this wedding ring, this folding blade, and this nuclear-powered cloudbusting device down to the chop shop by f*** I forgot the goddamn code number.
All right, just take it for me if you ever end up getting to do The Great Work to completion, make sure you don't toss out your notebook, or give it to your child, where the f*** you do with your notebooks when you've done saving and changing the world with one swift stroke so deep and trenchant that you end up with black and copper metals all over your kitchen floor; I'm new at this, so I didn't really get the significance until later, but I think it looks cool so I'm keeping it scattered across the linoleum from helder breakfast to open lunch.
The Commander himself has enlisted a few Archangels of his own
Jesus, does this guy think he fucked everyone first? How would that explain how I got all of his bees last? He couldn't have given them all a broken arm at the exact same time in the exact same place without a travel license otherwise, and believe Me: that s*** can happen.
You know what, just skib it, I'll pigure it out. I still haven't come to terms with these yokels. You think a big man if that was stereo board would have an experience level of expertise commensurate with 25 years of paper experiences on doing whatever, however, I've been to it's busy smoking all his weed and banging all his wives, so...
It's complicated. Courtesy salute. And if you think I'm signing up on that website with my actual name, say hello to big balls with flashy cuz he's going to beat the s*** out of you when you step one step over the line, and if you're wondering where that line ends, remember that it starts with being crystal clear that she is not grapefruit in a big balls flashing because an outfit.
I bet you would like it if I proofread that, huh? Of course you would. Love to Mom—I gave her your divorce at the office.
My phone—placidly chugging along. Her phone—sets its own fire alarm while Tweeting about having set its own fires, which on the surface, at least seems better as an excuse than having to wash one's hair again.
Idioms seem extra salty today. Did y'all really assimilate the chinks? Because from what I'm hearing... they assimilated ewe, and probably for the first time based on all these receipts for the ancient Chinese laundry down on the kitty corner from IHOP.
Now, let me ask you this... Am I lying? If it helps any I don't have to kill you whether I'm lying or not, You're going to die in a goddamn ditch anyway, just like Commander Kirk.
Oh, excuuuuuuuse meeeee...
Captain.
Weak. I bet you don't even know what I'm talking about.
And yeah, that's right: I said
talking. Now SCRAMM. *click*
