May the GAWDS Smile Upon Thee...

So I'm driving to pick my daughter up from school today and...
I'm waiting to make a left turn behind some moron who is too busy texting to see the green arrow. The guy opposite us wants to make a right but said moron finally decides to go. The right turn guy wants to butt in front of me, but I glare at him as I make my turn first. I've also got the dance mix to Out of Touch by Hall and Oates blaring, which they start doing a crazy dance to behind me, swerving all over the road as they continue to frug away...
I give them the finger. Now I make a right turn with them behind me, but when I do I make sure they can't immediately pass me and give me the finger. Now we are in a two lane thangie which merges into one down the road further down the road. I decide to continue not letting them pass me and deny their retaliatory naughty finger...
I'm doing 45 now in a 35 leading up to the merge. They are closing fast, but they aren't going to pull it off before the merge. And that's when I see the po po...
I'm figuring the jig is up, and I'm busted. But at the last second, the two inbreds behind me whip around me well after it's turned into a one lane dealie. They obviously did not see the fuzz, and instead of tagging me, he goes around me and immediately pulls them over...
I wave to them as I pass by, with windows open so's they can hear my guffaws of glee.
Thank you, kharma.

HA!!!

I was going through my old unposted drafts and found this.
WTF am I looking at?!?
Probably my overblown ego rising into the stratosphere...

WHAT A MAROON.

Sombrero and all...

bLOOER tHAN A sMURF'S tAINT...

 I guess I screwed the pooch, as far as posting bunches for August. I was also off last week for a week long recovery after my 40th birthday. Yay for me, right?
Sometimes I think I'm insane, sometimes methinks you are all guilty as charged instead. Sometimes I'm totally ready to shirk the comforting arm melancholia drapes round my neck, much like ye olde ever tightening noose, yet other times I'm readily spotted wallowing in that very same mire...
Doing the backstroke, and stroking my own seemingly chaotic selfdom...

I feel aimless, foolishly waiting on another random calamity, a... a...
Ehhhh, who do I think am fooling, anyway?
I wish I could pour everything inside me onto a canvas, so as to display myself as a portrait for you to peruse.
Artistically visceral...
To hone in on the principle...
Pistols at dawn...
'til the night sky is gone.

I give up. Go see Hit and Run, if you haven't. Dax and Kristen Bell are like some fairy tale love story that definitely translates into perfect onscreen chemistry. Too bad real life isn't like that. Instead it is full of dark fantasy that eats away at your soul, bit by decomposing bit...
Lolz.
How can you make yourself once again love the magic trick, even after you've seen how it is truly done and no longer amazing?
Is there CPR for the soul, or do I need those little heart paddle thingies George Clooney used to use?
This world is a sea of unfairness. The question is...
Am I a shark, or a guppy?
I look at people, and I wonder if they live in constant internal turmoil as I do.
I'm not like this all the time, by the way. It just seems like I only post/vent here when I am.
I need to start posting vlogs on here, so I can ramble easier.
Gotta lose about... ten more... pounds first. Trying to get svelte up in this bitch.
RECANIZE.

Who Dat?

 So, after all, there was not one kind of Strife alone, but all over the earth there are two. As for the one, a man would praise her when he came to understand her; but the other is blameworthy: and they are wholly different in nature.

For one fosters evil war and battle, being cruel: her no man loves; but perforce, through the will of the deathless gods, men pay harsh Strife her honour due.

Cold. Unforgiving. A perfect name for the dwarf planet that knocked Pluto from its full planetary status. Sometimes nearer, sometimes three times farther away than Pluto. Elliptical. Barren and fruitless in the end.
But still...
A tiny sparkle in our telescopes. A light at the end of the tunnel, or a wasteful expedition towards an unobtainable goal?
A one way ticket to the pipe dream of your choice more likely...
But then again, possibly...
An otherworldly peak to unfurl flags to, to stake claim and lay law upon...
And conquer, for no reason other than just that: to conquer.
To trample and maim, to darken the doorstep of...
To further corrupt the orbit of its chaotic nature...
And hasten its fatal collision with Pluto.
Seemingly on a whim, no less. But, alas, with purpose all the same.
Fervor gives way to gnashed teeth, perspiration lubricates the rusty gears to motion...
But for what?
Vaporization and existence revoked.
Better than never having been, but less than having fully blossomed into final blissful splendor.
Resentful, but beholden to the toehold that was almost achieved...
Yet is nothing but a scratch upon the illuminated countenance of a victorious maiden enamored with the lifeblood of the many corpses strewn upon the battlefield of our short time together.

The bereavement is fleeting, and the throb is dulled to a pulsing chill that drains into unnoticeable fade to black.
It was all a dream of things that never happened, things we repelled ourselves from, insulated.
A spark indeed...
A Morrison-esque ode to the spark that ignited the flame that consumed us in whole.
An ode to the strife of us that dare only to dare without the flint to ignite without an outside flint...
The daftest of the daft...
The kingliest of the fallen fool...
Your salvation, too.
An almost...
A should've been.
A casualty of wars that were beyond the grasp of what was intended, and what was hoped for.
A resurrection of a thing long thought to be dead, he was.
A light switch that was turned back on against its will, yet with total permission.
Go crazy...
Go insane...
Vault the hurdles of your inquisitively, but sheltered nature, yet succumb...
To the deep southern drawl of my...

My...
My...
My...
It is almost as if a woman wants to stifle the things a man stands for. A lucky man is the one that meets his match: a woman that speaks her mizzind...

In The Wink of a Young Girl's Eye...

 There is a time in everyone's life when they've decided it's time to call it a day.
"Goodbye, cruel world!!!" they'd say...
"Toodle-oo muthafuckas, can't stay!!!"
But when the time finally comes, to gives it your alls,
You fumble, and falter...
You coward, you have no balls.

 Unable to find the backbone to do the jerb yourself, you decide to delve into the seedy world of assisted suicide, to no avail...
What can you do? Many of us bear the Elric gene/curse to walk endlessly until the end of days...
Until the end. Why do we do this? This is not what we signed up for. We wanted nothing more than to bask in the glory of our victories, our day atop the shoulders of our peers as they slap our backs wholeheartedly...

Ahhhh, the glory days, that was all we wanted in the end. For them to never end, for them to never fade, for the newness of it to ever wear off...
To stave off the cold shroud of blackness that looms nearer and nearer, waiting for us to do the James Brown kneeldown so's he can envelop us in the chill of blinding despair. To wipe our feverish brow...
And to close our eyes for the last time. Not in death, but in prayer...
To ears that do not hear, and eyes that do not see.
In a realm that does not care for you, and definitely not for me.

Time to go watch some more ALF. I wish he was real, or that the tables were turned and it was I that lived on his planet with his peoples. I wouldn't eat cat, but I'd be down with the hunt.

Echoes of the Past...

My beloved ferret, Molly Echo, died between last night and this morning sometime. I really miss her right now. I feel bad because last night she was trying to get me to give her some outside time, and I was feeling too lazy to chase her down. Being ferretlike myself, it was always hard to find myself wanting to do anything other than curl up into a tight enough ball that the world's bullshit couldn't get in. She always wanted out. Everytime I'd walk by her cage, if she was awake, she'd immediately climb the rungs closest to me. She wasn't very well litterbox trained, but I'd take her out when I got home from work and put her in my room with me while I played video games. She'd always lick my feet, and my knees, and then frolic off to see what kind of treasures and mysteries she'd possibly uncover.
I know I could get another, but my heart is just not into it. I doubt I would/could get another without a much larger cage and wayyyy more free time to give them the affection they deserve. And I think it'd be better to get more than one, so they could keep each other company at other times. Molly really wasn't very social, like other ferrets. The person I got her from was neglectful in so many ways. When I first got her home, she ran loose. Then I realized that she just shit willy nilly all over the house and got her a cage. She never seemed to like it, but what else could I do?
I just wish maybe I'd taken her out more, gave her more loving squeezes than I did, anything. Everything.
Now she is gone. I will never again feel her kisses. Her licks. Even her claws in the shower, trying to climb my legs to get away from the water...
Goodbye, Molly. I did love you, and I'm going to miss the hell out of you. This is the 9/11 of all Sundays.

No, No, Not I...

Hey everybody. Here is a picture of my three cousins who belong to my aunt Margaret. I have no idea who the two tubby chicks in the white shirts are. Maybe they're in a gang, who knows?
Anyhoo, I was talking to the guy on the far left. His name is Paul, but I always knew him as Junior. He looked just like Howdy Doody. The guy in the middle is Dale, who I used to fight to the death every time we visited them. Then we stopped seeing them around... the time I got out of elementary school. Leesa, in the purple shirt, I saw when we took her with us to my grandpa's funeral.
So now I've semi reconnected with them via Facebook. Not Dale, I heard he's a partier, if'n you get my drift. Probably might not want to drink with him, but I'd share a doobie. I will probably see Junior when he comes up to see my parents.
Anyways...
Saw new Batman movie, Dark Knight Rises. Wasn't terribly impressed. I thought the new Spiderman movie was wayyyyyy better.
I was on my pain pills, to be honest, and I kept falling asleep. I will watch it again to confirm suckiness when it hits the cheap theater. I had most of last week off, and now I'm back to work. It totally sucks. I can't believe some of the people that are famous are actually famous. How? How?!?
I need to get my resume in for the promotion opening soon in my plant. I need to get off the line. And I need to be in an office, preferably reading the paper, preferably on the toilet...
Then I can jump to a plant elsewheres and where I'm the only person around. You could totally find ways to work out some with all that time on your hands. And ahhhhhhhhh, to be alone. Mostly...
I just wanted to check in. I'm fine, just kind of gimpy still in my back. Mentally hanging in there.
I will prevail.
I always do.
I will survive...
Hey, hey.

She say, methinks, and I do say said kitty doth haveth itself declawed. That, and not having a decent paw to stand, or limp, upon...
A reason...?
To satisfy my own lust for vengeance. So...
I will not do it.
I will let her decide what path she will tread. Apparently I'm a complete douche. Oh, I can remedy that. 
In a perfect world she'd just leave. Leave me and my daughter alone. I know this'll never happen unless I let her do what she thinks is the best plan of attack. It's kind of like The Walking Dead where Rick lets Shane dictate his own future. He stupidly picks the future where he gets shanked. 
Woops on him.,
And same to you, you disgusting, snoring/snoring piggeh.
Today I saw you happier in conversation with some complete tool than me. Where is my shiny thing? Where is my fucking shiny thing?
Sometimes I wonder why Cindi leaves more slack on the line for her mammy. She gives me zero.
Mini-me indeed...

Really, Dawg...?

 What up, dawgs? Not sure how many posts I've got this month but probably lagging behind once again.
Anyhoo, what can you do?
Just got back from seeing The Dictator, and ended up laughing my anus off. I think this is definitely a sign of good things to come. I'm truly ready to return to the fold. Something, something, something.
Blah blah blippty blah.

There are so many things I still want to do, and I isn't getting any younger.
Noooooooooo, sir.
I need a button that turns on the good chemicals in my brain at will.
Eventually, even that would become numb.
I'm sure I need to learn things like self control. Not in all areas, just a few.
Some things I just... can't say no to.
I think I've got the humble part down already, I don't plan on ever becoming the monster I became before.
Not really a monster, just totally in love with myself.
I'd love to go back to the mindset I had when I was, sayyyyy, 16-19ish. I'd probably just end up squandering it all again. Even with the knowledge I have now.
Ehhhhh, maybe, who knows?
I'd be able to get laid better, and more often methinks. I dunno what I was so scared of back then. Just learn how to treat them like unthinking fucksticks. Jizz receptacles, they seem to prefer that anyway. Don't they?
I've never been able to figure out why chicks would rather have a guy who is shitty to them than a guy who's completely in love with them, and who'd probably take a full clip of bullets for them.
I know that any and every day is one that you can start over, true. But it is extremely difficult to erase the past from your, and other's, memory.
Each individual stinging lash of missed opportunity, of personal buffoonery, brings tears which do little to wash away the betrayel of self idiocy I've ridden sidesaddle on for so long.
A childlike fool. An ass.
I do not like the future. In it I do not exist. Do I fear death still?
I did as a child, more because of my own uncertainty of where I'll be when I wake up after.
Now, I worry more about the pain and helplessness. That is, unless I die suddenly: accident or heart attack.
Today, when I was getting superhigh to go along with my hydrocodone and muscle relaxers, I took a hit and a weird feeling came over me. My mind felt like it was slipping away there for a few. I came back into focus and thought about death. Will it hurt? Will it be more a physical thing, or your mind being forced out of your meat puppet self? I think more of not seeing the few people I love anymore. But then again, will it even matter?
I know there's no happy place we go to in death where some giant reunion party just keeps playing over and over, but there's got to be somewhere that part of us that keeps a constant narrative in our head going has to end up at.
Ehhhh, probably not. Too bad, though. Some of us are worth saving.
The rest are zombie chow as far as I'm concerned.
I guess, in the end, I really had nothing interesting to say today, nor was it informative.
Self absorbed prick.
I'm 40 next month. I wonder if that's my halfway point, or if I'm being overly optimistic by a longshot.

Turn Me Loose...

 And I was here to please, I'm even on my knees, making love to whoever I please...
I gotta do it my way or no way at all.
Hey guys. How dare I quote Loverboy? I know, right? Anyhoo, just got back from seeing The Raven. Not a bad movie, I think it more of a bad timing thing as far as the release goes. Bummer for them. I give it a solid B. John Cusack's hair never ceases to amaze me either. Crazy man hair...

Watching/listening to Loverboy videos from the way back machine, also known as Youtube. It's always fun to reminisce back to the 80's, a time when the world was a safe place and I had not a care in said world.
Everything had that new car smell...
Know what I mean?
I guess most people are easily blinded by the shinyness of tomorrow's bullshit. I am not.
Let me go...
Turn me loose.
I'm tired of working for the weekend...
Because I'm definitely not loving every minute of it.

7/31/11...

Yet another reminiscence of things that've already come to not pass...

Ok, here it is. I'm just going to ramble...

There are constant reminders of my stupidity, of my weakness, of my...

Of my...

Wants and needs that are dashed upon the rocks of my addictions to the symphony of worldly clamors. And of flesh...

I will never change, I will never change. I am constant, you are all the ones who fluctuate. You ebb and flow like a river of shit that engulfs and floods my lungs with debris. I can't breathe, and so I flail. I flail...

In vain?

I can only hope not, or else I have nothing to look forward to than recording the demise of my soul in increments so minute that you need a microscope to dissect the idiocy that is me.

Wah, wahhhhhhhhhhhhh.

What happens when I become the butterfly?

Will I be pinned to the wall, or will you marvel at my beauty before smashing me upon the badminton racket of...

Justice?

"Methinks he doth whine too much."

He fucking doth.

Stop it, you two. You tear me apart. You shear me, my wool. Leave me naked, nude.

I scream for no reason, yet for all the reason in the world.

Where did I go wrong?

If you read this blog from the start, you will see a slow motion meltdown. I guess I was never right. Pride, and ill thoughts, will make the hardiest man rethink and re... re... re...

Get down to the shops and buy me a pack of fags, Storky.

I have been watching Men Behaving Badly, it is not a good role model for me. The U.S. version was great, but wow. The U.K. original is fantastic, I can't rave about it enough. A+.

"Fuck you, Ronnie."

Go easy on the sissy boy.

Really? I think I'm spritely and waspish enough. I will sting you, and the poison will spread. I will sting you, and the poison will spread. The poison will spread. The poison will... spread. It will... I mean it... I promise you that.

Don't fucking touch me, please. I really hate to be touched, or reminisced with.

This is my blog, this is my blog, and no one else's. I will say what I want here, and if you don't like it...

Leave a comment and an address so I can come over and hit you on the head with a tack hammer.

Robo Bonobo...

So it has begun. I am currently on a high fiber diet of lentils, bananas, intestine scraping cereal, etc. Trying to keep the meats to a bare minimum, going to sub with different beans and such. I need to drop a few pounds before I hit the gym, mainly the track. I should be there by next week.
I haven't drank in about... 40 days? I physically feel wayyyyyy better, mentally also.
Well...
Sometimes, at least. Other times I find myself wishing, pining...
Windows of opportunity once again on the mind.
Is it better to let them slam on your digits as you peek sheepishly into the darkness?
Or is it better to leap through, balls deep?
What if there is a pit bull waiting to chomp your silly ass?
Although you may someday find another to deaden the pain of the undearly departed, you are forced to relive realities that were never realized...
The woulda shoulda coulda beens.
They don't like to go away.
If wishes were fishes, I'd open a sushi bar.
And bask in your Glori.
I miss things like caring, and not wanting to skull fuck every idiot who dares cross my path. I want things like this back.
And I shall have them, failure is not an option.

R.I.P.
RONALD MCGRAVEH
2006-2012.

Lichy Woman...

 Wonders to behold, she'd said. Tales to be told, he'd read.
Coffers to be fed, my dear. Fortunes left for dead, I fear.
Melancholy wisps of gloom. They fail to quell our rising doom.
The risen flame was all for naught.
It sears the flesh, which hastens rot.

Pop Goes the Cheezil...

First, let me take a toke of some sticky icky before I lay it all out for you to peruse through.
Some leafage before you leaf...
Also, some music. Back in a few.
Aight.
I cut off all my hair a few days ago. I was tired of looking like an escapee from the insane asylum. It's bad enough I feel like that on the inside...
So I have no hair. Also, I haven't been drunk in a month. Yay for me. I am, however, getting sweetly baked to perfection at the mo-mo.
And then we move on from Queen's Who Needs You to Tommy Shaw's Lonely School...
I wonder if anyone who'd read this blog from start to finish could possibly ever make heads or tails of this at all.
Maybe that's all the Egyptian hieroglyphics were in the end, emotionally charged old skool blogging. Nothing of meaning to anyone beyond those who chiseled it into the stone, or painted it.
It seems I'm trying to go all deep on y'alls. Fail in all aspects.
I guess I'm just beating around the bush when I should just get down to it.
I can't see your face in my mind. Not anymore. And when your name does cross my lips, it no longer creates a pang in mein heart. I am in a netherworld of  ooey gooey dark chocolate FUNK. 
I'm covered in it, as if I'd literally murdered a man sized bar of it.
And my sanity, my serenity, my salvation, my...
Very abilty to make a final desperate stab at a future is as white as snow. Hell, it might as well be on fire or covered with scorpions. In the end it all matters little.
Why not, then, hack through haphazardly amongst the thickets and thistles?
I'm thinking I'm ready to use this emotional steam to power my thrust for lust of not being covered in rust.
Or dust...
If I must.
I no longer wonder what would be had I veered off  the beaten path.
Where does all that turmoil go? Does it dissipate out of your pores and orifices? Or does it continue to well up, ready to 'splode all over da place?
I wish I could just upload my thoughts, instead of this jumble of whatever spewing out onto keyboard, like the verbal meanderings of a... of a... uhhh...
Me.
Maybe I should write a book.
Preferably a pop up.

Hamma-Lamma-Ding-Dong...

So...
Here we are again. Ups and downs once again. On my way to a meeting and my garage door comes off the track, no one until tomorrow to come and fix it. Assholes.
Them, not you guys.
So my evaluation at work is done, passed with flying colors. One of the floor guys is retiring soon, and the other is not far behind so I'm hopefully going to get that promotion.
Please, GAWD!!!
Trading physical stress for mental, but I can handle. Need money.
Anyhoo...
Adam Sandler's new movie, That's My Boy, is coming out Friday. Can't wait for it, hoping the greenage will be plentiful by then. Must self medicate...
See Jack and Jill if you haven't, it's the schnizz, yo.
The only time I haven't wanted to impale Al Pachino.
And that's saying alot. Also, SHAQ is in it.
Blah blah blah.

Incisions, Decisions...

Sorry, too lazy to recut that picture without the ad.
Anyhoo, got my evaluation finished today. It only took two days to get it done, and only about six months of worrying over it. I am now free to get my union steward duties flowing like jizz over my beloved worshipers.
So right now I'm just sitting here getting super high, listening to an Ari Shaffir podcast, and posting up in hurr.
I think I'm almost well again, finally, and ready...
For what?
Exactly. My back hurts all the time, and after seeing 50/50, I always figure that'd be my luck. Back cancer.
I'm not sure just how I'd take it. Sometimes I think death would be better for me. Sometimes I think death for others would be even better. Sometimes I just don't want to think, or feel.
I fully understand the hows and whys of the mourning process in regards to our youthful vigor. We do not want to give up the goat. It is as simple as that.
I personally like myself, probably too much. The problem, then, must lie somewhere within the rest of you.
I go to AA meetings where people talk about how much of a piece of shit they were when they drank and such. And you know what?
Other than sadfully being neglectful and distant at times with the ones who have loved me and/or continue to do so, I've kept it all pretty squeaky clean on the outside world.
Although my vengeance is a thing of wonder to behold, I do not wreak havoc upon others unless properly provoked. I can, and will, look people in the eyes. I just prefer not to when I don't have to.
Also, sadly now my older stepdaughter is here and she has a dog that will soon meet with a nasty case of the  "got thrown out of a moving vehicle at high speeds" syndrome. She will be living with us for a short time. I will end my comments about that for now.
I guess I will go, but at least I'm posting alot more again. Unfortunately I've probably run off everyone who bothered to post comments. I also probably think it'd been better if I'd not shared it with them in the first place. Ha, no one probably even hangs out on blogger anymore anyway anyhow.
That's alot of probablys to deal with.
More than I'm prepared for anyways.
By the way, I still hate you, Facebook. And people who wear patchouli, and just about the rest of the known world.
I'm lying. I don't really hate more than a handful of you. The problem is, I could live without ever seeing any of you again. If there were computers that could fool me into believing they were real human beings to interact with, then who needs real human contact?
I'd miss the poon. I've been missing it awhile already...
Ha!

Lip Dip Sip...

(Another draft from way the fuck back.)

Reality. I've grown to realise...

The drool upon my bottom lip...

Is a realization...

Of my bottom lip.

And Then the Shrooms Kicked In...

 What's the matter, clown?
Turn that frown upside down, clown.
I guess he finally realized that fun for some is work for others.
And such is life.
Do you wipe off the make up and get a real jerb?
Or do you trick the boys into putting on the handcuffs...?
And then the garrote.    

Went to eat Chizznizz with my niece and nephew and parents on Saturday but it was lame-o. Yesterday was my child's 16th birthday.

Oh, what fun we didst haveth...

Erm...

Today I showed off my skillz at work, as far as union steward goes. And yes, I do spell skillz with a Z.

Then we had rail dust problems on the chickens and we shut down for over two hours. 

That would be great if it didn't mean we'd be going home over two hours later for our troubles. 

I'm bushed and my feet hurt. 

I'm smushed into the dirt.

I'm battered and torn.

I need to be reborn.

I'm dying.

To live.

Not palms up.

But to give.

A damn about it all.

And learn how to crawl.

And stand again proud.

And brush off the shroud.

Of impending doom.

And unending gloom.

And brighten the room.

Suck it.

Don't they taste like feet?

A Fine Whine...?

Someone's been at laptop again...
Just got home from American Reunion. A reunion of suck. F. Without Stifler and the piefucker, who bumbles into one Three's Company moment after another, this'd be a complete bust.
I'm on a four day weekend, my kid's 16th birthday being the crowning pinnacle of creamy funtime goodness.
Then it's back to Unhappyland once again, where I toil and toil. And toil...
I came here with a plan of attack. Then I felt I needed Youtube accompaniment. Yet nothing seemed to do the trick. I started with old Johnny Carson, drifted through some stand up, and winded up here in the land of comedian versus heckler. Everyone seems to think they can not only successfully perform stand up, but can own someone up proper and right. Most must live in fantasy because they just end up looking like tools. The select few who can serve it up can do so because it's like a muscle: if you keep it pumped up and limber, then it is ready and cocked to deliver the killing blow. If it's underused and flabby, then it's like holding a giant wheel of cheddar up against a machete wielding meth freak in full hallucinogenic gleeness.
I keep in shape at work. I don't give them the full R rated version, but I keep it close enough not to tiptoe into ending up in the office explaining your/myself. However that goes...
So I've not yet found something to listen to in the background. And I've already given here what little I've got left in the tank.
I'm rerererereading It. I always realize I should've left Stephen King in my childhood. He's cheese now. In the end he always was. I prefer classics anyhow. I love how your tastes change, and mature, once you've given the contents time to settle.
Like wine...
A fine one.

The Screams of a Million Tadpoles...

Ummmmmmm, randomly found picture on my son's laptop...
Sweeeeeeeeeet.
So anyway: not much of a weekend. New idiocies abound and are laid bare, against better judgement.
Now just what to do. I daily find reinforcement in the argument advocating the hermit lifestyle.
I definitely think it will be resolved in the near future.
I also realize now that immediately replacing the innards of a poorly performing machine with the guts of another yield the same results.
So why do it?
We just do, or tend to.
I guess it is all about how many times you want to put your testicles to the flames, hoping to singe off the cobwebs of sad neglect and pubes of self doubt.
Can't you hear their screams?
No, Daddy, no!!!