I’m not dead, despite what you may have heard, which is your own fault for listening to drunkards and perverts (and completely not my fault for associating with them).

Nor have a abandoned this thing to the wilds like an unwanted baby from a carnal union between a scullery maid and a bishop (a few moments that gave him more pleasure than a life time of praying to his SkyDaddy, and a few moments that resulted in her having saggy tits and a blown out cooch).

The honest truth being I’m a bit too desensitized to the world. No more shock, no more horror. Just a shrug and an absent-minded scratch at my whiskers. Less of that means less here. I don’t want to sell you the weak shit, dear reader. Only the best from the Honorable Reverend, promise.

But don’t think for a second I’m not still watching all of you. Yes, even you with the infection. You should get that looked at, it is spreading. And no I don’t care if it is in an embarassing place and you contracted it from an even more embarassing course of events – get that shit looked at. Post haste.

G’nite, you horrid little beasties of physic and phlegm.