Huh?

I renounce.

Friend or enemy?

A place “where there is no darkness?”

Huh?

Since thee Chump’s ketches run low, mizzen-masted abominations, out of the thick, cloudy dregs at a barrel’s wake chucked overboard, you should stand at attention. Stay attached to your “telescreen!”

Havoc ensues if thee goat’s thrash goes unslaked.

Dada-daddy sometimes looks like Big Brother—no eascape—he’s always watching you.

Are you a recidivist? A lemon exiting a household on fire, occasionally writing on wallpapers graffitied by cherubim?

Are you gaffe-gobbler bragging of decathlons you fixed—the outcome certain to pay-off big in your favor?

If so, you are a randy gobbler! A paperweight sorbet raider whose neighbors have elided to the Ministry of Love.

As disincentives go, the best I can offer is The Wicker Mandible and a general lack of cohesion and sense. Choose!

All is:

A. aleatory and atonal

B. detritus and straightjacketed

C. eggheaded and folkloric

(you must choose one pair from the above)

There isn’t a trace of a muse within 63 leagues of the epicenter.

Fend for yourself. Forget. Endure.

For I am (probably) naughty.

What I’m Reading:

“I used my first and middle name to be
remembered. My last name belonged
to a deadbeat dad.”

— Emanuel Xavier / “Old Pro”