Dearest Taya

Today, since someone as lovely as the sun, the east! Slayed the moon (it was pale) has been too me. This day. About me. Me! Me monster. As if never intrude your space and shan’t stalk without a permit and written consent, I’ll say that you are the terra based equivalent under the lone star and I hope you know: someone is thinking of you, and shining supplemental good thoughts while also under the grace of God above even that burning ball of fusion, emitting light.

So, Meet the cru!

First off, you have flips. Sure, he’s flipping the bird. But like a pyromaniacal tendency encouraged and nourished in an assault man, he’s bipolar by choice and by billet. Then, there’s gas mask. He got a waiver when he joined, that says he can smoke anything, and I mean anything, so long as it’s through a novelty gas mask water pipe. Real gas mask not issues nor requested. Shades, of course. My MO? Well, guys, we are here, and if we live through this? We’ll be somewhere else. Together! At a wedding and good friends. Then, a loner in the background of four, Mortimer, of the spidercorn.

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