My P.O. Box is in a city named Vader. I'm going to see if I can get Angel to change my box number from 460 to "Darth."
It could happen. She likes me. Who wouldn't? Seriously. I mean, besides drug-fueled racist psychotic turbosluts who think they know which side of the Austro-Hungarian Empire to bet on. Fucking risk assessment is a real killer on this, let me tell you.
If only there were some kind of treatment that could be explained to someone with a security clearance and a history of functional illiterism. Well, maybe someone will come along to help repair the environment... so the most valuable members of the species... can
thrive.
