And so it begins again.
February. The month of the damned.
February, of course, is an infernal period when the moon drips with blood and hellish swine-beasts run roughshod over the innocent children of the village. As the accursed beasts ravenously tear apart and chew the succulent childflesh, the rest of us are left to lament the passing of January, and look forward to the brighter days of March when the flesh-eating swine-beasts will be gored with iron pikes on St. Patrick’s day.
Why do we allow atrocities such as this to be visited upon us thusly? Are we perhaps too stuck in our ways and mired in tradition to see the folly in allowing red-eyed swine-beasts to rummage their snouts through the opened bellies of our children? Barack Obama has suggested that we open dialogue with the swine-beasts in hopes of finding a new way forward. I personally feel hope in the words of this magnetic political figure and place my faith in his vaguely-worded promises.
Unfortunately, just now, Barack Obama himself was set upon by the swine-beasts of February and eaten alive. The largest of the swine-beasts, the one with the 7-inch tusks, personally ripped the tongue out of Obama and vomited down his throat.
All is lost.
Even still, in the midst of our sorrow and thigh-pounding lamentations, there is something puzzlingly familiar about all this…
I think it is Tasha’s Birthday today. Ha.
I do believe you are correct Adam.