Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Another guest contribution

This time it comes in the form of a grave warning from my older, wiser sibling Le Olde Sasefina:

My fingers hurt. My guts hurt. Spend the majority of your time ignoring or tending to the needs of your body, but what are ye doing for your minde? Aye, youngling kith and kin, when do ye stop to consider what it is good for thy head? If it groaned like yer belly and shook like yer knees and ached like that wounded arm of yourn from the previous eve's worm-dancing revelries, would ye take better care?

Aye, goodly youngling. Haven't ye thought about the contents of your withered and transmogrified psyche spilling out, leaking all over cyberspace like the gangrene ridden blood dripping out of the veins of a slaughtered olde goat ye sacrificed to make room for a soulless new cloned little chicken plumpkin? Be careful lest your soul travel without ye. Media will steal yer minde ere ye even realize ye have been taken. But a split second and ye've gone galaxies deep into the blackest abyss.

Hark, youngling kindred of mein! Ere ye lose thine owne precious being, that which maketh yourn life yourn! Sew up thein head ere ye lose it and experience reinfleshment in the form of a lowely rodent or some other manner of foulness. Take heed, good sons and daughters. The demons abound.
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