Name the mountain,
and I will move it.
No matter how old I get, it is still fun to write love letters.
Especially ones chock full of silly, boastful, impossible promises.
Ah, hyperbole. Wherever would I be without you?
Heh. That deserves an ode. An ode to hyperbole.
Meanwhile, back at the hacienda. Renewing my love affair with d20 work with the invitation to do a hardback collection of modules. Heh. Hard to believe someone might actually pay good money for that. Something to consider, at least, after May 31, which is now only 4 months away.
Chop, chop.
Ghost, vampires and blood rites. I love my night job. Hope you do too.
3 comments:
Harley, you are the King of the Night Job.
I, if I may be so bold, am the distant, semi-legitimate cousin of such royalty.
How, exactly, does one get to be "semi-legitimate"?
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