Dearest readers,

I'm afraid that I will no longer be posting about the incredibly important axis of satan any longer, I'm afraid that although I began writing about them, you'll have to look to Ryder and Simon for any further posts about them. And although I'm sure you'll all miss my posts, read forward for my last rant about my old enemy.

My entire life, I've a had a never-ending grudge towards the narwhal species, an undying hatred usually reserved for zombies and Adolf Hitler. This hatred has pretty much dictated how I've lived my entire life. I've lost girlfriends, missed out on job opportunities, lost presidential elections, scared cats, burned books and gone to a electron telescope in the nude, all just in an attempt to find the one-eyed narwhal that killed my parents, and as of now, I have not succeeded. I've told you all of my running away from that accursed narwhal that day, and escaping into the forest where I met my adoptive father, Davie the gopher, what I have not told you, is how I escaped into the real world, where my hunt began.

Davie and I lived a very solitary existence in the magic forest, hunting cockroaches and playing with the fairies and wood sprites. It was a peaceful existence, and the best part of all, I didn't see a single goddam narwhal. 


That is, I didn't see one until I was a teenager.

On the eve of my fourteenth birthday, the wood sprites informed me of a horned serpent that was slinking up the river. Davie and I attempted to dam the the damn river and I was unable to cut down any goddam trees to make a dam for the damned river goddamit. My damned teeth weren't goddam sharp enough goddamn damn damn it. The narwhal eventually found our half-completed dam while Davie was in the water and...