Well.
Welly-welly-well.
Appy Polly Logies, my droogs. Your humble narrator is about to tolchok some devroshkas. In the ass. A bit of the old in-out-in-out.
A bit of the old ultra-violence.
The crux is upon us. The roots of Yggdrassil have been showered with kin's blood.
I, Fenris the Wolf, Lord of Entropy, has devoured the moon.
Noah builds his ark. The Ark of the Covenant.
And mountains flew like wool.
And a star fell unto earth, like a lamp. And seven thunders uttered their voices in unison.
The cow shifts, a tick on his back worrying him. The egg on its horn trembles, as the fish beneath the cow goes blind.
A wind comes and all the good people are gone.
The sky turns blood red as the sun rises from the West.
Oh well.
