Apparently, I am dying of some creeping mucousy plague, and this is making my fingers too weak to type. In fact, in order to make this semi-post, I had to commission a translation and typing expert (we’ll call her Navis Deacon) to listen to my stuffy, dripping mouthings and convert them into passable English. That and someone’s getting married this weekend and I am to ush. Therefore, no posts. I’ve got a few drafts hidden beyond the veil of blog administration for the \_337 |-|@xX0®zz among you, but the rest of you are just going to have to wait until they’re leaked to the P2P networks.

Love doesn’t rhyme with cholera,
sb