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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Bad Medicine 2021
The Daughter of Alias Saga #1: Be Better
Author Message
ALIAS Offline
Space Jesus



XWF FanBase:
The IWC

(gets varying reactions in the arenas, but will be worshiped like a god and defended until the end by internet fans; literally has thousands of online dorks logging on to complain anytime they lose a match or don't get pushed right)


#1
11-16-2021, 06:35 AM



                                                                                                                              

























































1A: Setting The Table

“Are we done now?

Are we done playing those tired old games? Are we done giving airtime to the deluded and confused? Are we done trying to play pin the tail on the fucking Alias? Are done pretending that I’m a one trick pony, or that I’m desperately trying to cover my own ass, or [insert bullshit here]. Are we done acting like I don’t already know every valid criticism there is about me? Sure I get confused - I ain’t mad Cor’ Bear! - but I also know what I need to do to fix that. And I’m fucking doing it. That’s one of those intricacies that every single one of you seems to gloss over. When it comes to numbnuts like Bobby Bourbon, it almost seems intentional too. I’m out here rockin’ my new, fandangled, coherent speech, while you fuckers are still playing those childish effin’ games. Can’t you see though? They’re water off this ugly duckling’s back by now. So let me ask again…

Are we just straight up fucking done with all that?

Can we be? Please?

I get it, everyone wants the glory. Everyone has balls of steel, metaphorical or otherwise, and everyone thinks that they’re the ‘one’. They think that the laws of the Universe don’t apply to them and they will somehow, someway, do what nobody else has been able to. Jesus Play-The-Same-Song Christ, I am O-V-E-R, over it. So much so that I really feel like I shouldn’t have to say this again, but I will. Oh you betcha sweet petunias I will. I figure that if I beat enough people over the head with this (and then beat their ass in a fight, hey-ooo!), maybe you’ll all finally get it through your dumb-as-fuck noggins. So lemme say it again, especially for all the new kids on the block. Special shoutout to ol’ Petey Vaughn amongst them too - remind me to kick you in the cunt sometime, pal! But all of this over here in XWF-Land?

This is my Universe.

Do I need to say it louder? Should I shout it from a fucking mountaintop? Bitches and gentlefucks, I am the mountaintop.

One more time!

This. Is. My. Universe.

You want it? You’re gonna have to come into my world to take it. And if you try? You would do yourselves a favour in taking a quick lesson in what happens:



I don’t need to threaten people’s lives - way to make things up again, Thad. I sure as shit don’t need to rely on twisting people’s words - way to drop the ball again, Bobby. I just need to show up. And fight. And as long as I have a reason to keep on fighting, that ‘one’ that everyone thinks they are? They don’t exist. There is no ‘one’.

Not even you, Lycana. Tavora. Whatever.

Let’s face it, you’re the closest thing there is to a ‘one’ skulking about round here. I’m not going to gloss over Leap of Faith and pretend it didn’t happen. I acknowledged it then, as I am now. I’m also not going to ‘count you out’ as you put it. No, that’s not what I was getting at on Savage. I meant what I said there: This is different. You say that you haven’t changed enough to affect the dynamic though? Cool. You don’t need to have. You’ve acknowledged that a change has happened nonetheless. You… we agree things are different.

That’s because I have changed.

Or, what I’m fighting for has. We’ll go down the rabbit hole a thousand times over. Of course we will, right? Far be it for me to disappoint my ardent supporters like Bobby and co.! Never fear, friends! I’m not even done with dipping my pinky toe in those waters today, and we’ve still got a while to go yet! But as with every time I first open my mouth before a wee donnybrook, this is just about setting the table, so to speak. I can eat later.

Tav’, do you want to know what I’ve learned about myself since last time? I have to fight to become better. A better fighter, a better survivor, a better eater, a better word-twister - HA! - and even a better person, for whatever that’s worth. And I’ve done a whole lot of fighting since then. What that means is quite simple:

I am better.

Full fucking stop.

And a damn sight ‘better’ than I was!

Oh mama, you know there’s a double meaning in that! Maybe even a triple! No need to dig deep for them - they’re all right there, spread eagle, butt nekked, and ripe for the eating. I’m better in the head, better in the heart, and better in a fight. And you had something to do with this, Tav’. You pointed me down the road - both literally and figuratively. And I’ll show you some of that journey. I’ll tell you all about where my mind is at. It’ll be a trip - you all know how much I like to tell my stories, after all - but we’ll get there! I promise! Do me a solid though, will ya? Don’t be a dumb piece of Lou and toss the book out. That really hasn’t been working out for anyone. I trust you know better than that though. Especially with where your mind is at. You’ve made that as clear as I’m going to make mine. This is, as you might say... different.

So strap on in, girlfriend. We can touch base again in a minute here, but for now, let’s just be different together. What do you say?”








1B: Reflections Of A Girl

This had been an adjustment. That feels like a stupid thing to say. Of course it had! How could it not? I, the drifter. I, the loner. I, the derelict.

I, the sanctimonious shit-stain.

That was then. That was the beginning of the end. Back when the Universe first started giving me its answers. I know that I’m past that now. I know, as the girl’s head lays in my lap, drool dripping from the side of her mouth, that I have something else to fight for now. But all those labels that I’ve been painted with - the ones I’ve leaned into and the ones I’ve just let slip on by the wayside...

They’re all right.

The positive? They’re right. The negative? They’re right too. Every single one of them. I know it as well as anyone. I, the label-gatherer. It doesn’t matter if they’re given to me by others, or if I placed them on my own head. They’re all right. I am the contradiction. Perceived how I will be. However, I’ve got to say, one of the few labels that I never expected was ‘father’. Like I said, it had been an adjustment.

I’m not her father, though. Not really. I know that. But that pesky Universe… it had shown me something. About her. Worse… it had changed her.

The head in my lap was a whole year older than that of the one that had laid there a month ago. Not just in speech, but in body. She went from unsteady steps, to full-on fucking running; from near-full words to near-full sentences. All in the blink of… something. It hadn’t been the blink of an eye; it took longer than that. I saw her as a babe, a child, and then an adult. If anyone could relate, it was me. Just as I had seen her, I saw myself as a withered old man with nothing left to fight for. But beyond that, before that, I had lost so many years of my own. That’s how I knew. That blink?

It was The Blink of the Universe.

This fucking Universe thing. I guess I mistakenly assumed that seeing everything through to the end as I had, meant that I had some level of control over it. I’d like to say that I’m the gatekeeper. Really though? I’m still just its caretaker. The one fighting to make that sumbitch answer the fucking questions. No matter. That’s the position I’ve fought from for so long already, and it’s worked out pretty nicely for me so far.

The girl chokes on a snore. The truck we are riding in bumps across a pothole in the road and her body shifts as wakedness calls to her. Readjusting her head, her eyes remain closed and she fades away from consciousness once more.

I look down at her, still a little in awe of her transformation. There’s a voice in the back of my head that tells me that this should never have happened to her. But it did. And with everything I’ve gone through - and all of the opportunities that the Universe put in front of me to resolve those things, sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth debating the should haves or shouldn’t haves. It happened, so let’s just fucking get on with setting it right again, eh? Easier said than done.

This was a new challenge for me. Everything I fought for before was about myself. Adding someone else to the mix, well… it had been an adjustment. It’s not just her coming into my life, it’s her addition to my fight.

I fight for her now.

And me.

She didn’t come into my life by accident. The same force that drove me to everything else that I’ve accomplished tells me this is true, but beyond that, it kind of makes sense. To me, at least. It probably sounds a lot less tangible if I were to speak it aloud like I had before.

I will though. I will fucking tell them all why I will FIGHT!

It’s not like my life is fully fleshed out over here, you know? Ten fucking years were lost! Two years before that. I get the gist of the deal, but still I have questions to answer. In the short-term, those questions abso-fucking-lutely deal with the XWF. Morbid Angel is the reason the girl is here with me. And Lycana… she directed me on the path. That’s been dwelling on me. The girl never reacted to her. Not like the way she did to Corey, Centurion, even Dolly for a brief moment. The girl was a crier.

But not for Lycana.

There’s got to be something to that. And I’m here in the middle of it. With Lycana on a fucking platter before me, this can’t be a coincidence. Surely it’s time to eat! Right?!

Right?

Fuck. Who am I even asking? The truck is slowing, the brakes are squealing, and we’re about to come to a stop. There’s only one way to find out what I need, and that’s to keep fucking swinging.

“We’re here!” shouts a voice from outside the vehicle. I shake the girl awake while the tonneau cover above us is lifted. Working through her groggy refusal, I urge her to her feet and leap over the side of the pickup, snatching her from the cargo bed and settling her safely on the sidewalk.

“Thanks,” I say, shaking the driver’s hand. He nods and slides the small handful of notes that were sitting in my palm into the side pocket of his blue jeans. He jumps back in the cabin and the engine chugs to life once more, softly billowing a thin black smoke behind the truck as it waits for a safe space to turn into the heavy traffic. I look down at the girl. “You ready?”

She rubs some extra sleep from her eyes. They widen as she takes in the scene around her. Bustling streets, enormous buildings, noise everywhere. A casual Tuesday in Manhattan.

I give her time.

“Yeah,” she says, a goofy grin crossing her face when the excessive stimulation starts to even out for her. Still, she steps in closer to my leg.

“Cool,” I smile at her. A lump forms in my throat, and I try to swallow it down to little avail.

She doesn’t even know why we’re here.

It’s not that I want to give her up, but I have to give the Universe that chance.

I’m not her father. Her father was dead. But surely she had family somewhere?







1C: Don’t Call Me Daughter (Not Fit To)

I was glad to get off the street. In a way, this city should be a playground for me. So many nooks and crannies to tuck away in and play. So many worlds to discover, sealed away behind every door. But there are some worlds that aren’t worth visiting, and the people here? They suck. There’s no soft way to put it. When the girl and I ducked away from the food truck, the denizens crowded around, towering over the small girl. I did my best to fight through, but by the time we were pulling inside, I could see a tremor in her lip and the fear in her eyes. She was known to cry around other people, and something had definitely been triggered within her.

The wrapper of the cotton candy floats through the air after I throw it. It lands on the edge of the trash can, almost exactly in the middle, and spends several seconds deciding which way it will go, before eventually falling in with the rest of the rubbish. The candy itself finds its way into the girl’s mouth, and though it calms her nerves, her eyes still write another story. One I know too well.

“Uh… I have an appointment,” I say to the middle-aged woman behind the desk. The girl huddles close to my leg, hidden by the desk from the receptionist’s view, as she nibbles away on the sugar.

“Name?” the receptionist groans, peering over the top of the rims of her glasses.

“George,” I reply, with a silent thanks to Bobby Bourbon. “George Georgeson.”

“George Georgeson?” There’s an unconcealed scepticism in her voice. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. She doesn’t even look at me as she doubts me. Instead, she goes straight to finger typing on her old computer. The machine whirs loudly, struggling to respond to her clumsy inputs. It takes a while. My fingers drum on the countertop while I wait. That’s enough to finally draw her eyes - a look of death though it is. I stop, and have just enough time to wonder what to do with my hands before she lets out a satisfied (I think?) grunt. “Third door on your left.”

Once upon a time, that statement alone would have sent me into a tizzy. This time? I just smile. It’s received as warmly as our arrival had been. I tap the girl on the shoulder to signal that she follows me, and she stays in tight as we walk past the reception desk and make our way down a well-loved corridor. On either side are small offices, each with a plain wooden door on the wall from the hallway and a window through each of which a rickety desk and flaking chair make up the dominant furnishings. Some have computers and personal belongings. Some even have people - the fucking gall of them. There’s one such person in the door we were directed to too.

“Hello, Mr… Georgeson?” the person says, standing up from behind their desk to shake my hand. She flicks her head, throwing her auburn hair from in front of her face to over her shoulder. I take her hand and firmly grip it. Unlike the woman at the front, at least she smiles. I awkwardly do the same. “Please, take a seat.”

She gestures to a steel-framed chair upholstered in a tacky, red, faux velvet. I move towards it, and lift the girl up onto my knee. She’s still chowing down on the cotton candy stick. It had been a long stick, and just under half of it was left.

“Oh…” the woman mutters, noticing the girl for the first time. “Well don’t you have a bit of a sweet tooth?”

The girl leans into me, and I can see the tears starting to well. If it weren’t for the snack, I’d say she would already be wailing. Mentally, I patted myself on the back for the strategic move.

“Pass me that,” I say, pointing to a polished Newton’s cradle on the far corner of the desk. The woman follows my finger and hands it over. Taking it with one hand, I lift the girl with the other and carry her over to the furthest side of the small office. I set her down on the ground, and she falls onto her knees, still grazing. Placing the cradle in front of her, I lift the ball off one end and drop it, sending it crashing into the others. The girl hones in on it, the rest of the world falling away. It’s a cheap one, so it doesn’t last long. When the clacking begins to die down, I repeat the action once more and even earn myself a small chuckle from the girl in the process. That’ll do. Another self-directed pat on the back.

I leave the girl to play with the cradle herself, trusting that she’s smart enough not to put her fingers in harm’s way. I know that it’s a trust well placed.

“Cute kid,” the woman remarks, as I take my seat again.

“Yeah…” I agree, glancing back at her. “That’s kind of why I’m here, Ms…?”

“Ms. George,” she says, unwittingly handing me a perfect opportunity to beat another trope over the head. George, George, George, George, George! Wherefore art thou, George?

“And you’re a lawyer, right?” I ask.

“Yes, I am,” she confirms. “But before we get started, I should be clear that I’m not able to actually act as your lawyer in any matter. This session is limited to advice only. If you have any specific needs, such as upcoming court appearances, I’m not in a position to represent you. I can, however, ask Doreen to arrange this through our probono ‘Defender’ program. Spaces are limited but…”

“Doreen?” The name doesn’t ring a bell.

“Yes.” She almost seems shocked I don’t know who Doreen is. “At reception.”

“Ah!” I try to play it cool. She’s talking about Grumpy-Face out front. “No, I uh… I don’t think that I need anything more than advice. At this stage, anyway”

“Great!” she cheerfully quips. As she grins, the corners of her eyes scrunch into notable crow’s feet. “How can I help you then?”

“So, that adorable bundle of joy in the corner over there… her parents were killed a few months back.” Ms. George recoils in shock. “I’m not completely certain, but I think that she saw it all happen.”

“Oh my God!” she gasps.

“Yeah… pretty messed up stuff.” I look over to where the girl continues to be lost in the joy of clanking metal ball on metal ball.

“Did they catch whoever was responsible?”

“No.” My mind wanders back to that night. I still can’t figure out how that giant sonofabitch is still roaming free. I can understand myself and the North Korean War Criminal being poor witnesses, even Corey to an extent given all of the dubious trauma he’s suffered, particularly to his head. But if I were to design the perfect witness by hand, he’d look pretty fucking close to Andy Cortinovis.

“That’s terrible,” Ms. George says. I believe that she really feels that, but it still comes across as just something that people say for the sake of saying something.

“It is,” I acknowledge. “But that makes my position here a bit tricky. I’m not family. Shit, I had never even met her, nor her parents, before that night. I was just the guy who found her. And ever since then, she’s reacted the same way as she was heading towards when you looked at her, to almost everybody except me.”

“Have you been able to access some professional help?” she asks.

“In a sense.” And in a sense, that’s true, if you define ‘professional’ pretty loosely, like with the ‘session’ that Lou and I had. But that was more for me. And for him.

“That’s good,” she nods.

“I suppose.” I drift a little, thinking on the right words. “The thing is, the crying was so intense - like something nobody had ever seen before - that the police just kind of gave her to me. I signed some forms, sure, but they couldn’t find any evidence of her parents’ identity, so it was almost like they just wanted to pass the buck.”

“What forms did they have you sign?” I pull out a small pile of dog-eared papers, stained with, umm… let’s just say ‘coffee’. Ms. George looks a little disgusted as I pass the papers to her. She also looks a little surprised that I even kept the paperwork. I pulled them out of a magic satchel that doesn’t exist. They were right next to the Universal Championship and that BFG I whipped out for one of Lou’s stupid doors.

Ms. George rifles through the papers, pausing on the final piece.

“Wait…” She looks up at me. “This isn’t…”

“It’s a different name.” I’m getting more and more comfortable speaking about that. “I uh… I had a medical thing. Amnesia, kind of. I’m sure I have that paperwork here somewhere too…”

“No,” she raises a hand. “In the spirit of providing advice, I must inform you that if you go any further, this may cross beyond the limits of what I’m able to provide. I remind you, just because I am a lawyer, does not mean I am your lawyer. Attorney-client privilege does not apply.”

“It’s all legal!” I plead. “The paperwork is right there!”

“Yeah, sure.” She rolls her eyes. “Mr. A. Leeyus. Alias? That’s worse than George Georgeson.”

“Look…” I lean forward. She jerks back. Her eyes are alert, and in them, I see every accusatory look that’s ever been cast my way.

Monster.

Weirdo.

Freak.

Outcast.

Subhuman.

I, the sanctimonious shit-stain.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I try to reassure her, though I can tell she doesn’t believe me. “I don’t want to hurt anybody! There’s a kid here who’s struggling, and for some reason I’m in a position to help her. I didn’t ask for this. But I’m here anyway. And I want to take her home.”

“What do you mean by ‘home’?” Her eyes narrow again.

“Her parents are gone, but surely they had parents of their own. Or siblings. Or something!” I flop back, and let loose a heavy sigh. “I want to find them. I want to return her to them. But…”

“But you’re worried that all of this paperwork will expose you for the fraud you are?” The cynicism hasn’t left her voice one bit. But her face softens as it studies my own. While it’s not quite the whole story - ‘fraud’ is a bit of a stretch - she’s close enough to the truth for it to hit home.

“I want to get her home,” I repeat, soft and sullen. “I just need to make sure that I can do it… safely.”

She drops the paperwork on an empty space on the desk in front of me. It lands with an authoritative SLAP.

“Keep the paperwork handy, and don’t say any more stupid things.” I look to her as if I’m asking ‘so that’s it?’ Her stony gaze back answers. I sweep the documents up again and slide them back from whence they came. Without a word, I compel the girl to allow me to take the Newton’s cradle, and place it on the desk behind me, not even looking at Ms. George. Scooping the girl up in my arms, we leave.

I hear what I expected as I walk back down the corridor.

“Yes… I’d like to report a kidnapping…”

I’m not surprised. This is my lot in life. I am the helping hand, condemned. Trying to turn over a new leaf. It’s a delicate line to walk.

Some might relate…







1D: What You Did

“Do you even care about any of this shit?

I don’t know. That’s up for you to decide. I just tell my stories. And fight. And win. I guess ‘survive’ sums all of that up. You know this, though, Lycana. You’ve been through the whole rigmarole before, and unlike some of the others, you did actually listen. Or at least I think you did, anyway. It’s not the result of what happened back at Leap of Faith that tells me that. It’s not even what you said when we stood face to face in that Alaskan ring. It’s the look you had in your eye when you said it. ‘Look at me differently’, indeed.

But let’s rewind the clock a little, eh? Let’s do what needs to be done and talk about last time. I know, I know, so boring! So predictable! So irrelevant! If you ask the last people who ate this hand anyway. Those dumb-dumbs. It’s why you’re here though, so of course it’s relevant! You want to see if you can do it again. But what exactly did you do?

Firstly, you took the X-Treme Championship.

Secondly, you set me on fire.

Thirdly, and more significantly, you stopped me. And you are the only person all year to have done so. Take it a step further and you’re the only person to have EVER done so, one-on-one. Forget Marf. This isn’t a segue to throw shade at how you did it. It doesn’t matter how. You still did. Neither James Raven nor Thaddeus Duke can even claim what you can. It’s just you. There’s no double-meaning, metaphors, or hidden messaging in this statement, Tav’: Congratulations.

Now I want to ask you something else… what didn’t you do?

Firstly, you didn’t stop me from getting what I needed out of the X-Treme Championship. I already had that. This is not to say I threw the fight, but in the grand scheme of things, you’ll recall that in the lead up to that fight, I had one thing on my mind and it wasn’t continuing to be the champion. It was making a fucking rug out of you. Losing the X-Treme Championship? That wasn’t the disappointment. Not getting to furnish the luxury condo that I totally don’t own with your skin was.

Secondly, you set me on fire. You turned me to ash… but you didn’t kill me. I don’t know if you were trying to or not. Maybe it was more of a heat of the moment thing, but either way, I may have burned alive, but I don’t even have the scars to show it today. Just those original ones. You remember them right?

Thirdly, and again, more significantly, you may have stopped me, but uh… it wasn’t exactly for long was it? Just a couple of hours later and I didn’t just have the 🎵 whole world in my hands 🎵. Nope! I had the whole fucking Universe!

So… did you really stop me?

To be fair, those are my words, not yours, but you get the picture right? It brings us back again to what you did do.

You made me better.

See the theme here?

You did though, Tav’. This is one of those super obvious allusions I was making earlier: you, inadvertently, pointed me in the direction I needed to go. And that… well that kind of makes it all worthwhile in my book. This burnt hand of mine that you and your then-kin gave me; the months of violence; the cage; the bloodlust; the blowtorch; the fire. When I look back on everything that played out between the two of us over the course of over six freaking months, I know that I wouldn’t be where I am, or even who I am without it. Just don’t expect a thank you for it. Just because I’m not threatening to slice your ‘Going-Through-A-Rebellious-Phase-‘Cause-Your-Parents-Got-A-Divorce’ Marge Simpson head off and fuck your esophogus, it doesn’t mean we’re there, ya know? The two of us, we’ve just been playing the cards we’re dealt. Mine was to fight. Yours was to be fought. By me. At times just like this. When I’m fighting to become better again.

But pray tell, dearest foe, how is a fella supposed to get better when he’s already steamrolling everyone in his path? Where’s that fella supposed to go from there? Honestly, I’m not quite sure. I never am. I just keep walking that road. The one you pointed me down. More than once now. Well fuck, the third time’s a charm, eh? I want to see where it takes me this time. But in the spirit of looking at things through that counter-lens again, I know where that road doesn’t take me. I know that the fella in question who’s doing all that heavy machinery work? He doesn’t just turn the key off.

He keeps fucking going.

That’s the mistake I made last time, Tav’. One I’m happy to own up to. One I will not be making again. At Leap of Faith, I wanted to end you. Not Thaddeus Duke, no matter what delusions he’s cooked up for himself. You. I never attacked him. But I did attack you. I was the freaking champion, and yet I was still the one who challenged you. Because going into that match, I had my mind set solely on what I wanted to do to you. Now? I have it set on what I need to do. For me. This isn’t about me getting revenge. This is about me being better.

Better than the Universal fucking Champion. Can you even imagine that? If so, know that I chose my words very deliberately there. Because for you, you’re going to need your imagination to ever experience it. At Leap of Faith, you did the unthinkable. Then I raised the fucking bar. That’s why your confidence fluctuates. And why mine doesn’t. You’re on the road again, Tavora. My road. Even further, we’re finding ourselves at another crossroads, but this time the roles have reversed. At Leap of Faith, I wanted something of yours: your blood. At Bad Medicine, you want something of mine. But I’m going to say this one more time, real slow this time so I know that you hear me nice and clear:

This.

Is.

My.

Universe.

You’re not the ‘one’ to take it from me.

I’m the goddamn King-Slayer. The God-Killer. The Legend-Breaker. The Devil’s Bane. The War-Winner. The World-Beater.

I’m the motherfucking Label-Gatherer. And the sanctimonious shit-stan too.

May as well add Wolf-Culler to the list while I’m at it.”








1E: Curiouser and Curiouser




I must say, that took me rather by surprise. What a fascinating creature, this darling tramp is turning out to be. It could use a wash, but still, I believe it has bewitched me! I shouldn’t be surprised, given how my interest had already been piqued when her nearly-as-interesting companion was walking on his way to that adorable cottage last month, but my oh my, how the excitement has ramped up since then!

Oh, uh… these primitive beings still hold an antiquated view of the fourth dimension as a linear path, rather than the hollowed-out trapezium that we know it do be, and they have devised a number of divisionary units from which they feebly measure it from, a ‘month’ being one of them. It is intended to be based on the lunar cycle of the only one of the 2.69 celestial bodies in orbit around their planet that they have discovered at that time, but in reality, it is a wildly inconsistent affair that barely makes sense to the creatures themselves. They put twelve of these ‘months’ in a ‘year’ which is in turn based on their own celestial orbit around their local, singular, pathetic star. However, the number of ‘days’ - a divisional unit based on their planet’s laughably slow-spinning axis seems to vary within every ‘month’, and every four ‘years’ just seems to add another one for no reason! Not to mention the inconsistencies that trickle down into the smaller divisions of twenty-four ‘hours’ in a day, sixty ‘minutes’ in an hour, and sixty ‘seconds’ in a minute! The whole thing sounds like something someone would have made up after an extended session of drinking florp-florp!

At least her vagrant chaperone has the right idea. ‘Be better’! Yes! Great idea! He has seen us too. They both have! It appears the ninklebloxxer worked as intended and they haven’t remembered a thing, but still, one can’t be too careful these days. I should watch on…



Do you have a light?

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