Now listen: I just came back from work, so my mind hasn't quite undertaken the necessary pregame analysis on this little piece of business. And yet, I must scramble together some kind of bouqet in response as it has been mysteriously festering, white pus oozing out, swollen and reddenning, brown-black scabbing, for 6 hours with no address. I am disappointed that LiterallyHifumi would accuse me of such a grievous offense, and I would like to assure everyone that this accusation is a complete and utter truth.
I've seen monster futa cocks the size you people wouldn't believe... Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion... I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. I've watched K-lines glow beneath bared replicant skulls in censorial laughter. I saw Sasquatch twins and Mothmen swarms at the coast of Old Antarctica.... Murmurations that bend and twist the sky above neon cathedrals... B-Brains dropping cone bombs on the Isle of Dargon, eviscerating it chunk by chunk. Georgia Whales jumping out of the ocean and reaching for the stars...... I've seen the manifestations of exotic 8-spheres collide... Digger vessels burst into gold dust. I've seen schemes collapse into singletons. I've seen strange singularities on elliptic curves. I've opened the gates of Arcadia. They put me in as a Dip Fighter in the Neo Crusades. Had me do swoops in the lush forests of Argenia. I was there at the Great Quake of 64, and saw the Temple collapse in New Jerusalem. I've eaten colored herbs from the blasted heath by Arkham... Traveled with a 10man crew across storm wipes to Vhessiu; the land where red people dance amongst the throves. I've gone insane from some of the things locals have fed me. It's had me bedridden and beat up for months at a time, spending hours shitting and vomiting into buckets, while having lucid nightmares about Old Gods rising from the green seas and bringing geometrical chaos onto us, portents of certain doom coming onto the world and watching in terror as they were slowly confirmed onebyone in real life. And I've woken up on the day that my body began to recover, wheeled outside and seen the mountains go from a dark blue to orange to green as the sun rose.
I am, what you would call, a tinted talkster. A loose mouth on the run. A bellowing of phrases in chain. I am the ambiguous swirl of your soul, when you drift into the wall with a head half sunk in a pillow. I am the flowers on which Juncos nom. The path to the sycamore. I eat dawn and break the day. I play with the worm before eating it. I squander little fortunes on big treasures. I take unto her. I spout out cocks rather than sucking them. I kiss the bellies of doves. I have twenty cooks on the line, ready to recite phrases from the big book on command. I've distributed my power amongst my friends. I've lost a pencil or two. I've kept my enemies in bed. I've sung tunes that mock others, and fired off notes lesser rapid than a lesser goldfinch. I've separated ringstraked birds from the plainfeathered ones. I am normal type. I deal in finite type morphisms. My cry is waxen great. My hagiography is prewritten. I'm rising up the ranks. Power is my ammo. My wounds are licked. I'm using it. I've smelt roses, and skipped by them all the same. I've been shanked by a dull blade, then sharp on the mathematics. Bivouacked in highfire places and computed products. I've ranted about schemes. Walked with Enoch. I've been rattled, and rattled my tail to unravel the rabble. I've quacked like a duck and stung like a hummingbird. I've shot C-beams out of my beak and created bowers for suitresses. Oh yes, I like the color blue. I've admired myself in the mirror. And I've realized: That I shouldst print more, not let that copy die: And thus I reprinted mon panache. I'm being born into something. I'm coming out of inaction. I am a holy heart rising. I'm taking unto the world. I'm hitting it out of the park.
I am Hifu's little pogchamp