As the nighthawk begins to talk, I balk at the fact that I am still up staring into this machine of doom, the only thing alight in the room. Tappin' away on a new keyboard unaffected by the booom boom boom of the bombs as they be droppin' like the cherries that ron jeremy was poppin' back in the day before he was a super greasy, old and sleazy disrupter of the peace he tried to keep before he drifted off to sleep, a hedgehog always, his soul to creep.
