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Today marks the beginning of a new order. My flavours spring forth and my odours fall back. I have a capital H on my favourite limb. This time I will not forget to slap the cats. If you decide to someday rectify your delicious capabilities by hammering my stapled nails into a ball of trampled men, your new and championed viking-lords will take it upon themselves to grant our hated ones with furry, soft and fantastic fists. These wonderful fists will pound the unwilling into hilarity. Take not the purple things; they speak of elephants and grapefruits. Instead, accept that your eyes are bleeding. It will hinder your travels for only a moment, but upon realizing that you see nothing and, in fact, need to see nothing your hands will grow large enough to engulf the imps that claw at your knees. Crush them with fervor! Crush them and squeeze them into a pulp! Add a pinch of thyme and lice and stir counter-clockwise - counter-clockwise - until you must stir clockwise. If the brew transmogrifies into a viscous and foul mud-paste, you are an ass. Tales of your unrivaled assery will be heard in all corners (and cusps) of the multiverse. Teams of bounty hunters will be sent to your location with only the most terrible of weapons and with hearts black as snow. Use them. Use them to teach the teaming masses of the unclean how to properly dig graves for the teaming masses of the unwashed. Today marks the end of the beginning of the beginning of the ending of the first and last of the never-ending never-starts. It starts tomorrow, but started yesterday after it started today. The green ones knew of this. I'm sure of it. These are words: 1, 9, 473, 54, 00110. These are colours: hat, knuckle, happiness, taste, cheesecake. These - oh, these - these are incredible: pierced knees, shattered brows, dripping crevasses, fifty-two yawns, a goat. Use this knowledge. Use it and be one with the necromancers. You dig?