Well, I’m not, I’m skipping breakfast, but it is. I don’t know if watching a centipede eating a cockroach is your idea of a cheery way to wake up in the morning, but you’re about to find out.
Actually, this is how my mornings always begin. Not with devouring cockroaches, but with cockroaches sending me email. Today, for example:
How’s your empire crumbling?
You short fat prick? How much more detestable will you get you foul abhorrent cunt?
I could tear apart each of those bizarre rhetorical questions, but I think you’ve all seen enough glistening mysterious viscera for the day.
I am most bewildered, though, by the suggestion that I have, or had, an empire. You’ve been remiss in sending me tribute, my loyal vassal states.