As you ever grow foreword towards the epiphany that eats at my peaceful comfort levels, grow something, of value! You know will secure your survival, intact. You can't like servitude? Leave that shit in the playroom. This is the real world with real names playing real games with you as the extinct!
Realize something viable. I promise not to make you the fucking messenger critics fucking happy awe the fucking time all the fucking time. Back the fuck up dickwads! Grow your schtick that purveys energy's into greater revelations into whatever you choose to validate. Dis'n ain't productive. You don't have the luxury of that time!
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