-=Dark_Angel=-, P.I.31 Mar 2004

The perception you have of yourself is so ridiculous, and so far from the truth, that any minute now your amazing zanyness will cave in on itself, staining all our terrified jodhpurs in a dreadful slurry of 'fascinating anecdotes about your way-beyond-the-extreme meth adventures.' And then, having based your entire personality upon telling everyone about drugs, and having based your entire poetic career upon a wanton smearing of tens by that UNPRECEDENTED DULLARD rockmage, your shrivelled prune of a body will come crawling back to me, weeping and begging for death. And I will look down upon you with granite eyes, the cold wind blowing through my golden locks as the sky turns wrathful overhead, and my jodhpurs fall, as if by magic, to the floor. And even as the torrents beat against my massive jaw, and the raging ocean crashes against ev'ry poop deck known to man, and even as you lie writhing like an urchin beneath another man's straining buttocks, the last remaining shards of your utterly drooping persona scattered like dung about the nest, even then that voice, that voice you know so well, will whisper to the chimes of a distant flushing outhouse: Bow'ls, my lad. Utter, utter bow'ls.