Son of Carl, born of Ann, stewed in fury and pierced by hooks of lust, and think not that I cannot see you and your craven scheming through my hot, bloody tears, for I have wept them so long that I no longer feel them.
It be mine intention to resist any and all tasks as dictated by unworthy castle-mice, to resist any and all baitings by those whose egos weigh down their very heads like they were chained by the neck to ingots, and to meet hatred with much more of same than such newborn, beardless children as may seek to employ such rage against my person may have ever dreamt of, for hatred is my curse and the blood in my veins.
And yet I turn from this malice and toward the love and mercy of our Father and his Son and that Spirit that shine down their love upon us, and my accomplishments are that I have turned away from vengeance and allowed those who've crossed me to live on, to learn from their errors or to sink or swim upon such rafts as their souls may have built or failed to build. Let them sink or sail as their hearts merit.
One day I shall be gone and with me all of this fury and all of this confusion. I shall take it with me and return it to the Crippled one from whom it came as I pass through on my way to the world beyond, where I shall surely await you and meet you at the gate.
So say I. Raise your glasses.
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