Jam, eggs, butter-shit. Eggs, butter, jam. Yes.
I'm glad my OCD is more awake than me right now. Clumsily slapping on jam, I already forgot the well-placed order of condiments I had anally slashed off in my mind. The texture of seed and slippery white combined is an unhappy occurrence.
Sigh.
My mind unravels to far away lands...surrounded by short people that could be mistaken for robots. Maybe they are robots. They seem technologically advanced enough. That might already be happening.
A strong, southern female voice interrupted my wanderlust.
"He killed him, he killed him in COLD BLOOD".
Ah. The town cryer is back. Part of me thought she was on hiatus, especially after all that Lucifer talk that was being tossed around two days prior. Usually when one gets to proclaiming about the lord of the underworld, I think it's time for a nap. But honestly, I've really learned a lot from her. I now know that Lucifer can't mess with God's children. And, who ever "he" is, he's now dead. In cold blood.
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