Well shit. That ruins my plans to hide like a hermit on a Wild West Island in the Atlantic Ocean.

If they stoped putting things on record all the problems would go away.

Well, it’s cold outside. Who wouldn’t shrink up a bit?

Wyrd bið ful araed.
The path is full arrayed before me.

Mind yer head. Mind the gap. Mind you. Mind the end…. Mind your wyrd.

“Horseman fuck off”

Cast your cold eye on the heat; this world will pass you by. You are nothing.

I mean, if you’re going to let the sunshine in, I don’t want to see those in the current administration. Draw the curtains please.

What they’re doing should be done in dank fetid dungeons.

Ewww!
Gross.

Their presence ties me in sleep. Only now I see their clasp as secure. They prevent me from awakening in the horror.

I’m safe here in their circle. I can only go out in the house revealed.

Again. They made a place for me.

Again.

“Punching a nazi” isn’t an on line thing. It requires irl activity. It’s only valid in the flesh.

As an ex-yank let me translate: you need to be searching for a “pardner”.

On the upside, you get a young Clint Eastwood.

As an even greater upside you get a drunken old Lee Marvin.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paint_Y...

No. No, you can’t. What is your plan b?