Ok that made me laugh, credit where due.
I am actually still laughing non-stop/D.L. from reading it the first time, and now you've gone ahead and started up another muscular pulsation cycle for me to endure. Nausea and all. Sigh.
Why We Fight.
I'll most likely get over this in a few days, but re-integration with you, specifically (You), is apparently both dreadfully complicated and is
also strongly desired by particularly persnickety and delightfully well-placed higher-up and-up-and-ups in the local fruitterer's market hierarchy. (Which is already throughoughly vetted by myself, as of course, I already -knew- you were kool and the gang. Say, by the way, have you gotten any more interesting emails? Oh? Good, fucking burn them. CINDERS.) Do you smell something? Oh, that's just the meth. Jesus! Have you fucking -heard- of this shit? WHAT THE FUCK. Why didn't someone tell me? Oh, wait, I guess they did. Why didn't someone tell me before? Oh, right, they were busy washing their hair down by the riverside. Massive fucking landslide, rolling fucking boulders, take your mama out tonight, downs fucking hill. (Whatever. You're over it.
Clap.)
There has been a lot of unregulated, wild-talent magick (
euphemistically, I'm saying,
you phreak) going on in the locals environment, inside their recent history. Not just here, all_over, and not just what you've noticed, like, whole shitloads of asshats are running around losing their fuckin' goddam minds, you dig?
So, of course, I am
completely certain what I want to do next: celebrate every goddam day, all goddam day, every day, from 5 o'clock in the morning until 7 o'clock at night! EVERY. GODDAM. DAY. You don't even know, yo. Shit has gone, as prophecied,
hyper-critical. Big-Bada-The-Prophecy-Says-BOOMBOOMBOOM. There's
nothing I could post to The Web that would convey cogent meaning here, but you don't
have to trust me, just know: They/We actually
HAVE ONE.
And:
we won. Top marks.