| Monday, March 04, 2002 |
 | The usual house - whitewashed, deserted, possibly continental - laid out slightly differently this time. He ascends the half-lit stairs, throws wide the doors. Sensing the air thick with a discomforting presence he zooms in on the only object in the room. In the corner to the right of the window, through which the moon pales, is a tailor's dummy in hessian. He presses on, knowing damn well that there is something wrong, that he is not the only one in the room.
Dave has a problem on last Thursday's UpsideClown. Meanwhile, as the mighty eagle soars, the dark rises and whatever else the fuck John Ashcroft is wittering about today, it's time to summon the armies of the West...
Before we even get into this, I have a question.
Why is it that when somebody says "Rally the armies of the West," they always mean me? Trojans? "Rally the Armies of the West". Afghans - armies of the west. Fucking goblins - armies of the West, I dare say.
And what does that mean? It means that yours truly is going to end up bleeding and sweating, covered in mud and with some poor fucker's viscera halfway up my arm. Have you ever razored somebody's bowels open? It smells. It actually smells worse than shit. For some reason this always comes as a surprise.
Diomedes is on the offensive in my new UpsideClown.
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