The prince of darkness and a highlighter pen. Marking his victims one through ten. Studying his quarry he chuckles and chortles, oh how he loves the mere mortals. The sun on hiatus in a full moon dark, which gave us our peculiar spark and gave our paths original names, in honor of men called errr. Peter and James.
His quarry are gathered, some of the best and the brightest, or so they think, he’s getting ready to show them and throw at them, even the proverbial sink. Pretty soon the ten became thousands… finally much more.
Pretty soon the gavel smashed and the room quivered in fear, why did our friend call us here? Why does this place has tall fiery gates and pictures of all their victims? Wait?
A sonorous laughter filled the great room, as the chandeliers began to shake and fill them with doom. Pretty soon it was all for themselves, as their allies wore signs and epitaphs from many wars.
The choir was assembled, not hastily though, it was time for the revenge of the primate doe. Fear coursed through body and their much troubled brains, is this what happens just before the holidays.
Now the penniless pauper with his nubile daughter look directly into the eyes of of.. new found doubt. The King’s crown looked a bit withered and dithered and the jewels now gone replaced with inscriptions. The writings now were in many languages but still just one, there was going to be no room for interpretation, no not one nor drinks of ale or the fattest of quails. This was their requiem for filling the jails.
The horny magistrate with his pointed tail, was giving them remorse with the whip of his tail. Suddenly they wanted to cry but none of that, they were going to eat envy with silent wails. All the former slaves laughed with glee and the sting of the whip could never cut so deep as the sting of a trapped conscience.
So bullies beware, an election or coop lasts for a few years only and then my fearful one, all is done and made right.