"She did what?" and we cried, she lied! I just can't believe it's my last reprieve. What could explain such pain, how I end up on any plane, aerial crash rehash and embellish balderdash, I whigged out on my walkabout and, Yoda says, I'm you.. telling it ... about. Never stopper yourself, save the stoic face for the Elf. Jumble all your crap and unwind it in a wrap. Dig dirt, cast about to subvert little ones hiding under mom's skirt who'd better learn to marvel at my mega-hurts. Ataturk, a great man, such a sissy, he had no pithy profile to sympathize with, he did his job just, massive feat and hard-to-fill shoes, so biographers could have at it, exhume his bones and whiten his skeleton, omitted his cycling prowess, or his fondness for the peleton, and so does this remind me why I'm me again?