fried raze my tired fingers cooked him, soaked him in the sap of an over-eager egg, and what should have been a celebration instead became a sandwich no one with any sense would ever want to eat. let one letter leave a word and you can warp the whole world into a much stranger place, awash with accidents brave or misguided enough to taste like almost any person from your past or present. our fried friend who brought us together, hollow be his name. we'll fill it up with buttercups and mirth while we count to seven. give us this day our daily spit in the eye of despair, and deliver us from whatever damage distance might mete out between now and the next time we're near enough to say hello, hi, it's so good to see you again. 260628 what's it to you? who go blather from