Jimmy-Jimmy,
Sitting here on a Goth judging chair ( upholstered with the skin of the LAST judge ), while wanking into an ancient vase and sipping 107 proof Kentucky Pure chased with IPA voodoo ranger, I looked at the address you had sent me:
James Lafond
%^$@
Baltimore, Md. 21214
All things contain portents and such, and all trained madmen look for them all. I settled on the cryptic numbers %^$@. Was it a post office box, or something else? Perhaps it was the altitude my assassin was living at? Maybe it was the rounds James had on hand for his grenade launcher? You have to admit, it encourages speculation.
So, as my defective head nods, illuminate me as to what your allusion to this number means, since I have this gross of bat tendons and dragon scales, and know not where to send them.
Yer Pal,
Cosmo Phalanx
Cosmo, that is my four digit house number, %^$@ Caucasian Avenue!
A hero's grave
Well, aren't we special? Given our debasement of virtual gods among men to circus clowns, who can doubt we have greater thrills ahead?
I just can't wait, but I'll have to. Pour me another.
The Pale Usher
Impressions of Moby Dick: Herman Melville and Modern Man?s Transcendental Journey
The Pale Usher
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