If cicadas could talk it wouldn't be from the mouths of babes. Lifting the hood on the carnival of coronary is a pleasant diversion from the spook house that reviles dystopiacs. Like watching The Thing at age 9, nightmares still pack a wallop, so Kay Shiraz election smegma. Fear of the nether region of planet abuse is worthy of checking status. Shitophobia is the stripped lug nut of cotillions. Reorient yourself towards the ideal of conquering the world with one hand as long as she is holding the other one.

The gonna love you rain or come shine greets you like you've been gone for more than a while. Describing your part in the finale is not the issue, it's the part about exiting the parking lot you wonder about. 999, man and that's the truth.