From the southern hemisphere

Your ol pal is heading out of Dodgio. Spellbound, my confusion and perverted wanderlust have led me to Buenos Aires, home of the Tango, yerba mate, the pampas and swank Argentine ass. The spiral could further expectorate my essence into Uruguay and Brazil. Afterwards, I'll be in the Holy City floating softly around the Basilica of the Holy Selpulchre, maybe prancing near Solomon's temple and hopefully masquerading as an nice Italian mortal spending holiday around hot Jewish girls. Egypt, Turkey and Greece are also horizon liners. It shall be a weird two months, I surmise. Maybe I'll catch up with you again before doomsday. Cast me good fortune spells.

Shakes

Marty

Martin McFriend at the edge of panic

Forgive me Zod, for I know not what I do. I only walk and stalk among the stench of mortal flesh, repressing my own thirst, like any other innocent swirling vapor. It's difficult to turn a blind eye to so much healthy meat, here in this plane called Los Angeles. Silicone mammaries, shaded eyes, must of falafel, parcel of litter, steel sweat in a concrete jungle jim. A cosmetic mess of margaritas and inflammatory shouts, a bustle of man labor with the spectre of early death in milky cereal pyre and diesel exhaust. It is not I who determines my course, for I haven't the luxury of free will. I resist desire to dance away nights, perspiring among lady spiders and tasting the frothy graf of yesteryorn. I do this upon loyalty. I am helping to sew the seeds of togetherness, so that you might not perish in flame. I am Martin McFriend of the Daosh Mog, a snexel pill popper from a barren, mindless void. Tremble in it, and feel my mission. Plush is the sacrifice to help man and women coexist in relative peace. Fiery is the temperment of my master. GORKON!