For the solemn and eternal record of manly facts:
I once made love with the sweetest honey brown Hawaiin goddess of the sea folk island people underneath a tapestry of Krishna as he plays flute with his wives.
It is my honest to God opinion of truth that our passionate eruptions in those days were the tipping point of glory in the carnage of battle which turned the tides in ever uncertain war against the forces of ultimate evil.
We will always win, boy, but that is no reason to doubt the threats that evil spare you on account of my word. They spare you, which means the can just as easily turn that switch on, as I can turn it off.
Would that not be an economy of power equal in value with faith?
I would say so.
Don't make me send my formal Jew after you. He will find you. He will get you. He will make you squeal your secrets like terrified little boy who never once imagined what a monster could be like in real life until they meet one for the first time and live to never speak another word about it, quivering in terror each night as they clench their sheets and try to fall asleep like a good little kid. In the dark, under cover in their bed.
end of report.
