Woe be onto whomever ventures hither, for the path onward is long and winding, and in the end, quite inconsequential. In spite my troubles and lacking talent, in spite blasphemous grammar, in spite  arduous mechanical prose, in spite spite itself, I endeavor to tell what the heart seeks to tell and linger. Like a fart.

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The Monster of Dover
Oct 17, 2020


Sep 5, 2020

Late Night Treats 
Apr 4

What Doth the Sun Say? 
Feb 21

Dec 12, 2020