There is no faster way to strip away the surgical gauze and get straight inside the bloody heart of things than deliberately causing trouble. It's been far too long; my dearest friends and enemies, and I feel the pressing need to stretch my jaws and feast. I've been sitting lazy, just twitching my tail in the fat sun and being quiet as a landmine; forgetful, forgotten about.

Feel like calling down lighting, got me this urge for summoning a storm. I want my yellow teeth to be grinning in your dreams.

I feel strangely content and it bothers the fuck outta me. No conflict, no wars fought, or swords drawn, indeed not even any arguments over pretty women or grandiose ideas or pranks pulled or tears shed or punches thrown or the things I might have said in the heat of the moment, nothing. It's wrong is what it is. An unnatural silence, a superstitious calm that portends truly massive, ugly upheavals, destruction on a scale unscored by Richter himself.

I look forward to it. I am casting out my weighted nets and looking for an enemy, we will clash our heads together like antelopes.

Now the direction is clear the only question is how to proceed. A prank, some kind of personal vendetta, misdirection, slight-of-hand, a few quiet words in one ear and then “accidentally” stumbling with a pair of loaded scissors. My intentions are settled, my focus is vague.

I apologise in advance, I really can't help myself. Well, actually, I can, but just... honestly, I'd rather not.