-Bite the Wax TadPole -- The Ultimate Battle Ground of Shadows

Honesty becomes me
^{[There's nothing left to lose]}
The secrets that did run me
^{[In Your presence are defused]}
Pride has no position
^{[And riches have no worth]}
The fame that once did cover me
^{[Has been sentenced to this Earth]}
Has been sentenced to this Earth

A malicious monstrosity betook the land. The rife chastising of the unyielding creek-beds flourished from the stallion's piers. They marred, and blemished the rather soft underbelly within the forest walls surrounding, and a pressingly audible screech reverberated against them. The creature roving across the alluvium fell short of the thought abandon. His mind always seemed haywire. Thoughts were always propelling about, lingering in corners, haunting him, but enchanting him at the same time. a fusillade of questions. Time.

Oculus gleaming, the leviathan glommed at the surroundings. Attention. He clutched the situation he knew what was at hand, catastrophe, pickling, poisoning, yet cursing the hardship of his misery, misfortune, and jinx. Affliction was bestowed upon the creeks desire as well. Silencing it? Silence. An.. artifice. Scheme? Scheme. Pain struck him, Scheme, his frivolous nob contracts into his upper frame. Dominator. He knew one thing, the one that made the plight against all the others, they were in the middle of a dawdle-muck.

'Polemics exist to poke holes in cultural pieties and turn received wisdom on its head, even about sacrosanct subjects like love. A polemic is designed to be the prose equivalent of a small explosive device placed under your E-Z-Boy lounger. It won't injure you (well, not severely); it's just supposed to shake things up and rattle a few convictions, like this here flower.'

Think back to your life before money, that prelapsarian time when the subject did not possess an iron grip on your everyday thoughts and actions. Do your childhood memories go back that far? As adults, we strive to amass enough money to buy anything we desire, or we try to live a simple enough life to avoid its pressures. BadSeed had the money, but he preferred to inveigle his needs and wants from his fellow peers.--If you have no money, how can you bet on either snail or horse?--Both aspirations reflect a desire to return to that childlike Garden of Eden.

Everyone has heard the phrase ['Crying Crocodile Tears']. It means that the person doing the crying is expressing insincere remorse. Either the sadness is not genuine or the tears are being used to gain undeserved sympathy. The idea that crocodiles cry dates back to a thirteenth-century French encyclopedia, which claimed that the creatures feigned tears over their victims. This is a once-in-a-generation opportunity to take the game to a wider audience, he wanted to play too! How dare they take off without him.

It is worth recalling how this system worked, since it suggests one possible path out of the current subsidy morass. With locomotion already set, BadSeed darted towards the group, mainly to the attacking don, Winded Spark. With his left shoulder aimed in the area of the stifle, contact should have Winded Spark taken aback by the blitzkrieg, if not knock off the attacks momentarily. Who cares if he missed, who cares if he was hit? Foolish yes, fun, Also yes! He would eventually blossom into his warrior, may they give him no time to do so.