These hypnotic flames, this black ether, a pinch of cold, dusty ground, this is how I literally turn the sand, man. These ionic waves of pentameter are too real, baby. Why? Because they’re lit down a scope and lantern. Buckeye Ranger 6 and the motherfucking space cadets, literally capturing your space decks and all your crew and saluting your grand captain. Real important stuff. Toast and fuck all, orange juice.
I’m just trying to grab your attention, it’s my job as a capsuleer of this vessel. Spacecraft: Humanity, lead role in charge of ballistic attacks, whereas one must think, dang, what tasty words this man has, what conjuring letters he uses as the backbone of this incredible dragon that springs forth, I mean, hell, I’m in this cabin ride, too. Me, too. I’m here, I was born before I got here, I mean, no, I worked hard before you got here. Anyway, earn a christmas ham this year fit with the trimmings, I don’t really care what relationship you have with your business taxes but if somebody doesn’t backhand a duck for you and fry that sucker up, why this world may just be a little bit darker everyday until, we’ll just wait and see.