I had killed a man and was on the run from the law. My friend was with me, helping me escape a terrible fate, although he had no blame in the killing. Traveling from hotel to hotel, stowing away on ships, hiding my true identity, picking up care packages and stashes from people who'd been in my shoes.

On one ship, as we were sitting in our room for the journey, we are accosted by a delusional loud-mouthed idiot. He keeps yelling about being some sort of royal, and I keep trying to get rid of him. But the door won't lock, so every time I push him out of the room he merely comes back in. Because we're laying low we can't just beat him up, even if we have the right. The stress is palpable, and we're on the verge of knocking him out and stuffing him under the bed when, thankfully, a group of onlookers see this and drag him away to the naughty corner.

Eventually I can flee my fate no longer. I am discovered and arrested. As punishment for my crimes, I am sent to a gladiatorial group deathmatch. In the basement gymnasium of an abandoned school, me and a handful of other prisoners are pitted against the supreme fighters, so they may hone their craft.

Our first opponents are a man and a woman who practice a special kicking art. Their legs are so unbelievably strong, that with a single kick the can send a 50 pound cement bag flying across the room. You cannot survive this. The woman has medium-short brown hair, and stands no taller than the typical woman. The man is taller than average, and is quite obviously an African man who has been medically given white skin and light hair. To deny them free range to kill, I must defend myself with a large ball-peened sledge hammer. If they kick the hammer head, they will hurt their legs. This is my only hope.

In the middle of the match, a surprise third contestant enters the fray: A large mutant tiger man. He looks dangerous, and seems near indestructible, although easily beaten into submission. The tiger man problem is solved when we figure out that he is in fact not a cat-shaped man, but a man-shaped cat, and if we open the door he will leave on his own.

Jimmy Stewart is a sort of individual.

Hello and such. This is a long form post about serious matters. Frequent "art posting" is not extremely punctual and dynamic schedule, We apologise , two oh two oh was not anticipated in earnest. Blame has been shifted to other matters, a purported "busy" which is being analysed and interpreted.

Revered Robert B. Jones laughs at the individuals.

We would like you to know, however, that purported plans have been sent to the measuring office, and cult resources have been allocated for the matter. It has also come to Our attention that the tenth month (eight) is of relevance to "art posting", and as such a task force has been assembled to substantiate.

Gregory Cromwell is not allowed to laugh.

Rest assured, as perhaps a sort of great ape might say, whatever future road might be surveyed, plans will go exactly and precisely as they will.

Gerund Gerund

Ratuna Ratuna

I saw a new age of degeneracy and hedonism blasted into the sky in a RipNut Vietnam firestorm to the cheer of thousands. I witnessed the rape of Christ and it gave me diarrhoea and depression. I experienced the zen and righteousness of Christmas lights and rockin' country tunes.

Heck of a new years.

Heck of a thing to come home to after a night of attempted degeneracy. Opened the front page to 20-something notifications, which is a first. Apparently this thing got featured on the front page, which is also a first, and not bad for my first upload in six years. A bunch of people followed me too, much to their probable regret.

More to come, hopefully, if I can keep at it this time.

LISTEN TO THIS GREAT TUNE I FOUND