Recap: Unpocalypse one.
A death holiday with a sequel, you gotta love that shit.
1:49 am right now, by lunch time, we'll see if I've been raptured or not.
I hope the fuck not, look at the repulsive pricks/twats that are going to Heaven, Anne Coulter, Michelle Bachman, Falwell, Pat Robertson, yechh, how...well...Hellish.
All the interesting people will be in the red pajamas, where do I send my sizes?
Course, if you see an entry on the Hannibal Lecter series pop up, it was probably all bullshit.
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Yeah, it's not quite noon, but, fuck it, I'm calling it.
Once again, bronze age myth fails in accomplishing my demise.
Next time, bring voodoo, muthafckas.
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