[Cue this now.]
Oh, Phans...what a dismal season. Once it started, I was greeted with three items of bad news:
- A weasel had killed the stud.
- An expensive, fungible reliever had fallen ill.
- I have forgotten the third.
I should have realized that the powers had condemned me to the hell of excrement but indeed I have passed through a thousand hells of this life without faltering. I am like a corpse that lies buried beneath the roots of a tree which flourishes by sucking nourishment from the decomposing remains. Sure enough, life is punishment. A hell. For some, a purgatory. For none, a paradise.
Oh, Phans....listen to their happiness! It brings me...misery. There is no hope of a single lasting happiness in this life, since we are already in hell. My soul is empty. I am dead to the world.
Oh, and Marco....Polo. Epic.