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Monday, February 28, 2011

Take Your Mother to the Range

I'm taking a slight break from the Silence Do-Good Saga (which I hope you've been enjoying!) due to a headache that's been bothering me all day. I figured I'd take another "Me Monday" and tell you about last Friday, when I took my mother to the gun range. It's unusual that she came with me because she never showed any interest in shooting.

For a few months now, I've been trying to get my father to come with me to the range, as part of a "last gasp" chance at us having something to bond over and talk about. My father is a retired Army officer, and has always liked guns, so I figured this would be natural point of interest for us. (I maintain that part of the reason dear old dad is disappointed in me is because he really wanted a son who would follow in his footsteps and join the military. Instead, he got me.) But every time I would suggest that we head out to the range, it would always be "Not this weekend" or "Maybe next time" or "I'm too busy". Note that "too busy" means "I would rather watch TV or take a nap than spend time with my daughter," and boy doesn't that make me feel special.

That's fine, old man. As I'm the only child living in the same state as you, I'll get to choose which nursing home you end up. Karma, as they say, is a bitch, and so am I. I'd feel bad about that, but you always taught me that anger is strength and forgiveness is for suckers, right daddy?

But I digress from my thesis. At one point, exasperated by the paternal blow-off I'd just received, I said to my mom "I'd invite you along but I doubt you'd be interested." To my surprise, she said "You know, I think I'd like that." So we made plans and last Friday, two wild women ended up at the Strickland Range in Daytona Beach, Florida.

So after arriving and getting set up, I pulled out Rev, my .22 bolt-action. Now I know that mom had shot before, years and years ago, so I decided I would give her the benefit of the doubt and not over-coach her unless I saw some bad technique or she asked for help.  Once she had become familiar with it and had settled into its operation and the rhythm of the range, she shot the target pictured here. This was at 25 yards, with a scope and bipod, but.... this is the first time in 50 years that's she's shot anything.

Now, while I admit I used a graphic program to clean up this next image, I did not change anything on the target. She earned each of those shots. She had one, and only one errant shot in the lower left middle ring that I covered with a "repair paster" between rounds. This kind of target has ink printed over that chartreuse background for higher-visibility, and in order to extend the life of the target you can cover the holes for re-use. Not seen are the pasters put on the orange inner ring or black diamond bullseye, because she promptly shot them off after I applied them!

My mother, at 25 yards, with scope & bipod.


Now to give you an idea of how small that orange inner ring is -- and to brag a little about myself as well -- I have included a target I shot at 50 yards, with a DVD overlaid on the target. That should tell you how tight both of our shot groups were!


Me, at 50 yards, same rifle.

This is a huge improvement over the last time I shot at 50 yards. Not only am I more accurate, but my shot group is much tighter.


This particular DVD chosen because Angelina Jolie was a sniper in the movie.


All but one of my shots fits within a DVD at 50 yards. This is zombie headshot material! Erin has achieved Level 3 in Firearms!

In short, I am improving and my mother is awesome. She's 72 years old, hasn't shot a gun in 50 years, and never used a rifle with a scope until now. I was impressed, and you should be too!

Friday, February 25, 2011

The Strange and Storied History of Silence Do-Good, part 3: Reconstruction of Nation and of Mind

The 1860s, as a whole, were not kind to Silence Do-Good.

After the formal surrender of the Confederacy at Appomatox Courthouse on April 9, 1865, her condition began to improve as the nation was whole once more. It was hoped that not only could she be used as a bellwether for the health of the nation, she could heal herself by working towards a peaceful reunification and reconstruction. As a skilled diplomat and maternal figure, many plans for the Reconstruction of the South hinged upon her role as symbol of a unified, nurturing United States.

These hopes lasted for approximately 5 days. On April 14, John Wilkes Booth fatally shot President Abraham Lincoln in Ford's Theatre -- the first ever assassination of a U.S.President. Instead of madness, Silence fell into a deep melancholy, blaming herself for being unable to protect Lincoln. The symbol for the wholeness of the nation had failed the symbol for its head.


At a loss for how to proceed, and unwilling to write off one of their greatest assets as a lunatic, Silence Do-Good was quietly subsumed into the fledgling Secret Service as an intelligence analyst, where she was able to lose herself in her first love:  learning. All historical traces of her were subtly obliterated, or altered to appear as artistic license and hysterical hyperbole. The Franklinian Giantess was an artifact of historical mythology, much like Washington being unable to lie about cutting down a cherry tree as a young boy.

The Secret Service was America's first domestic intelligence and counterintelligence agency, and Silence was able to submerge herself in data from across the country. She was a living computer a century before the term gained its modern meaning: a lighting-fast mind, photographic memory, and over a hundred years of experience enabled her to remember disparate details and reach conclusions faster than an entire department.

Left alone in a basement office for over 40 years, she had become the secret weapon of the United States' intelligence community, and in the process had developed another ability: the power of "earth perception." As she explained it, Silence was able to extend her senses outward to any point on American soil, perceiving it as a person would perceive the nose upon his face or the small of his back: feeling its status, as if the nation were an extension of her own flesh.

It is interesting to note that this power is entirely symbolic; any place designated as "American Soil" is vulnerable to her perception. This was discovered during the creation of the Panama Canal, as the principal engineer, John Findlay Wallace, needed her expertise on how to overcome several structural difficulties. Upon looking at the designs, Silence realized she could perceive the entirely of the Canal Zone, which was a U.S. Territory at the time.


Desiring to see this great undertaking in person, Silence manifested another power: that of "earth teleportation." Any spot of American soil, no matter how symbolic or far away, could be the the terminus for her transit. She is simply absorbed by the earth, much as how a person would step into a swimming pool, and reappears instantly at her destination. It is unknown exactly how this transfer works, other than the simplistic explanation of "Magic".

Upon her arrival at the Canal Zone -- the first time she had left the Secret Service basement in 40 years -- she immediately tendered her resignation and took control of construction efforts. There were three Chief Engineers of the Canal between 1904 and 1914, but there was only one foreman: Silence Do-Good.

Silence at the Panama Canal during its formal dedication on August 14, 1914.

This marks the second, and perhaps more influential, divergence from our timeline: the Panama Canal in this world was built more efficiently and with much less loss of life than in our own. In addition, while it did not open any sooner, under Silence's guidance the canal did not need the later improvements of the 1930s, such as Madden Dam or a third set of locks; foreseeing the need for them, they were integrated into the original design.

She remained in Panama, overseeing the operation of the Canal and making fine-tune adjustments to its engineering, until 1916. 


Next: The First World War



The character of Silence Do-Good is copyright Erin Palette 2011. All art in these sections is either public domain, or machinima from the City of Heroes MMO. I do not claim any ownership of art.





This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- Noncommercial- No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
Creative Commons License

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

The Strange and Storied History of Silence Do-Good, part 2: The War Years

From 1787 until 1802, Silence Do-Good was afforded the finest tutelage America could offer, an education better than any male non-aristocrat of Europe could produce. This was due largely to her father being the legendary genius and polymath Benjamin Franklin (who died in 1790 at the age of 84), but there were other teachers as well: George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton and other notables. Due to the specifics of her creation, she did not need to eat or sleep, and possessed the appearance and faculties of a full-grown woman. Therefore her upkeep was minimal, and in return for her education was able to help with chores about the house or farm.




Indeed, it was while working at Washington's Mount Vernon plantation that Silence began to exhibit supernatural powers. Once, while attempting to corral a recalcitrant horse for shoeing, she physically picked it up and carried it over to the farrier. Later, while attempting to hold the animal steady, it kicked her in the head. She suffered no ill effects from the strike that would have killed an ordinary man. She seemed, as one farmer put it, "As healthy as the land itself." Her connection to the earth was more than symbolic; she seemed to understand it on an unconscious level, and her advice regarding where to plant and where to build became well-regarded.

But farming and architecture were not the extent of her skills. She possessed a voracious appetite for learning, and while the rest of the household was asleep she would read until dawn. Language, mathematics, philosophy, history; all subjects fascinated her, and while such pursuits were regarded as "unladylike," the nature of her origin and pedigree of her father granted her more leeway than a normal woman would receive. Still, she took the time to study the womanly arts of dancing, music, sewing, cooking, and child-rearing.

When the Library of Congress was created in 1802, Silence moved to Washington D.C. to become a full-time librarian and curator there. Chronologically 15 by this point, she served under John J. Beckley, the first Librarian of Congress, as his official assistant and unofficial mascot of the library. During the day, she would work in the stacks, cataloging and shelving; her great height, taller than any man, helped immensely in this. By night, she would read voraciously. Her goal, she once said, was "to learn everything about everything."

Side Note: she was also the official "shusher" of the library. If a 7 foot tall woman with hands that could palm your skull told you to be quiet, you shut up, even if she did it politely and with a smile. That she was named Silence, and worked in a library, was amusing until the patrons actually saw her. No one was ever late with returning their books.

Silence continued in this idyllic existence until 1814, when the British Army burned Washington D.C., including the Capitol Building which housed the Library of Congress. This rampant destruction of art and learning incensed her; it was the first time she had ever been truly angered. In a spirit of righteous outrage, she drew upon untapped reserves of power...




.. and saved the books. (What, you thought she would go out and fight the British when there was knowledge to be rescued?) This marks the first truly divergent point of history between Silence's world and ours: her invulnerability to fire, and growing abilities of earth control, enabled her to delay the conflagration enough that the entire Library of Congress could be saved. Once she had secured the books and other valuables in a fireproof location, Silence proceeded to direct firefighting efforts (using knowledge learned at Franklin's side) and rescuing those in harm's way. She never deliberately attacked the British army, though at least one of their number took a shot at her. She responded by striding over to him, calmly snapping his musket in two, bending her over his knee, and proceeding to humiliate him via spanking while instructing "One! Does! Not! Shoot! A! Lady!"  While the official reason for the British retreat 26 hours after occupation was said to be a tornado which put out fires, tossed cannons, and forced a recall to their ships, at least some of that was due to the morale loss caused by "a resplendent giantess, garbed in American colors and immune to harm, chastising our soldiers as if naughty children disciplined by a strident schoolmarm."

In the wake of this assault, Major General Andrew Jackson was the first to Silence Do-Good as a military asset. He petitioned Congress to assign her to his command as a "historian and advisor", as the Library of Congress was in the process of being rebuilt and would not require her services as librarian for quite some time. It was during her time with Jackson that she began her study of warfare: strategy, tactics, and logistics. Her actual role in the Battle of New Orleans is unknown, for Jackson kept her behind the scenes as much as possible, but it is known that her abilities to move and shape the earth were instrumental in the transformation of Rodriguez Canal into heavily fortified earthworks which the British forces were unable to penetrate.

Side note: it is a matter of historical speculation whether or not Silence Do-Good was present during the Battle of Fort McHenry, and if so, if she was (partly or completely) the inspiration for Sir Francis Key's Star-Spangled Banner. Silence herself has remained, well, silent on this point. General consensus among historians is that, if speculation is true, she believes her presence would overshadow a patriotic victory and the deaths of those involved would be forgotten.




After the cessation of the war, Silence became fascinated by diplomacy (as well as war, called "diplomacy by other means" by Carl von Clausewitz) and was soon a fixture in the White House. She rarely spoke, preferring to listen and observe, but her breadth of knowledge made her an ideal advisor when her opinion was needed. She made frequent trips to both Great Britain and France as a goodwill ambassador.

Sadly, her knowledge and perspective did not help her at all during the Civil War of 1861-1865. As the embodiment of the nation, when America went to war with itself, so did Silence. For the first time in her life, she became ill, suffering the apparent effects of both consumption and madness, and was quietly packed away to a mental hospital in Bethesda, Maryland. For the duration of the war, she sat inside her room, screaming from agonies no one else could perceive and coughing up the blood of the dead.

NEXT: Reconstruction of Nation and of Mind



The character of Silence Do-Good is copyright Erin Palette 2011. All art in these sections is either public domain, or machinima from the City of Heroes MMO. I do not claim any ownership of art.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- Noncommercial- No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
Creative Commons License

Monday, February 21, 2011

The Strange and Storied History of Silence Do-Good, part 1: Origin

Most people know that Benjamin Franklin was a brilliant philosopher, scientist, and statesman. A few know that he was a Master Mason. But hardly anyone knows that he was also a Kabbalist -- a practitioner of ancient Jewish ritualistic magic.


Franklin knew that the fledgling nation of America would need a protector if it were to survive in its bid for independence against the great British Empire. Appointed the Ambassador to France in  December 1775, while in Europe he secretly visited the nation of Bohemia. There, in a clandestine meeting in the Jewish Quarter of Prague, an ancient rabbi thought to be Judah Loew gave him the final ingredient he needed to create a Golem -- the secret name of God. In return, Franklin shared with Rabbi Loew his secret for exceptional (some might say supernatural) virility, stamina, and eloquence.
 
After some consideration, he decided to give the golem a female appearance. The Spirit of Liberty, as exemplified by the French Revolution and immortalized by Eugène Delacroix's painting Liberty Leading the People, was a woman, and therefore the mystical symbolism was already strong. He also wanted his golem to be a diplomat and figurehead in addition to being a protector of America, and a lady of good breeding would be able to dazzle the aristocracy and turn chivalry to her political advantage. Finally, a strong woman of maternal bearing would easily rally the common folk and present a formidable image of a mother protecting her young.



He also made her 7 and a half  feet tall and modeled it after his favorite French mistress, Madame Anne-Louise d'Hardancourt Brillon de Jouy, mostly because he was a lonely old man and a bit of a pervert.


It took years, but Franklin eventually created his golem, but instead of clay,  he crafted it from the materials of the 13 Colonies. Her bones were New Hampshire granite; her muscles were Georgia red clay and her ligaments North Carolina tar. Mud from the Potomac and silt from the Delware formed her skin. Mink fur from New York became her long, lustrous hair; her coal-black eyes came from Pennsylvania, and her teeth were pearls from the cold waters of the Chesapeake Bay. Her tears were water from Boston Harbor, and her blood that of the dead patriots of Bunker Hill.

Her clothes were made of South Carolina cotton and dyed with native indigo (and, rumor has it, sewn by Betsy Ross herself); her gloves and boots were leather made from livestock grown in the fields of New Jersey. The circlet he used to conceal and protect the Hebrew word of life, "Emet", was made from Rhode Island silver crafted by none other than Paul Revere.

And on July 4th, 1787, during Connecticut's most fearsome summer thunderstorm,  Benjamin Franklin brought his golem to life using a combination of scientific theory and Kabbalistic ritual. Discovering that she was already highly intelligent and with a voracious appetite for education, he named her Silence Do-Good after one of his more famous alter-egos and took her aboard a ship bound for the Constitutional Convention to meet the delegates. 

Silence practices a speech written by her father as she sails to the convention.



Needless to say, the delegates were alternately shocked and amazed, thrilled and horrified. Some saw her as an abomination against God; others realized that she was a potent force for good and a powerful weapon for the fledgling democracy. Franklin argued before the others, saying, "None of us are born without sin, yet we all strive toward perfection and grace, even this creature before you. If this be sin, then it be upon my head; but how you make use of this gift is upon yours. Let not your foolish pride doom you and your country. I give you the incarnation of our country, and what you make of our nation, you make of her."

After much deliberation, it was agreed upon by the president of the Constitutional Convention, George Washington himself, that Franklin had indeed given the country a great and powerful gift, but one that needed refinement, and to that end Silence Do-Good would remain under the care of Franklin and would receive the best tutelage from the finest minds America had to offer.

She remained in academic seclusion until 1814. 


NEXT: Silence Do-Good and the War Years



The character of Silence Do-Good is copyright Erin Palette 2011. All art in these sections is either public domain, or machinima from the City of Heroes MMO. I do not claim any ownership of art.


This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- Noncommercial- No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
Creative Commons License

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

WNW: Super Harmony

Tired of dating? Had a crappy Valentine's Day? Wish you could find someone super in your life?

Then you need Super Harmony!

Monday, February 14, 2011

Debarchery

Wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy 
Put my glasses on, I'm out the door - I'm gonna hit this city
Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack
'Cause when I leave for the night, I ain't coming back


Fear the cute ones... Especially when the cute one is Hēdonē , the daughter of Eros and Psyche. She's sweet sixteen and bored with life on Olympus, so she's come to Earth looking for fun and trouble. She has her mother's powers, her daddy's bow, and a bad role model in the form of her aunt Eris, Goddess of Chaos and Discord.


She is debauchery and archery.... Debarchery. 



 
Tonight we're going hard, hard, ha-ha-ha-hard
Just like the world is ours, ours, ou-ou-ou-ours
We're tearin' it apart, part, pa-pa-pa-part
You know we're superstars
We are who we are!

We're dancing like we're dumb, dumb, du-du-du-dumb
Our bodies going numb, numb, nu-nu-nu-numb
We'll be forever young, young, yo-yo-yo-young
You know we're superstars
We are who we are!




Life is complicated when you're a Greek Goddess. Sure, life is unending youth and luxury, but it's also really fucked-up family politics, especially if you're Hedone.

Your great-grandfather, Zeus, has a tendency to screw anything and everything: humans, nymphs, even farm animals. Your grandmother is Aphrodite, who because of her status as Goddess of Love and Desire is seriously narcissistic and ego-fragile. Your father is Eros -- Cupid if you're Roman -- whose duty of shooting people with love arrows falls somewhere between promiscuity and rape symbolism, and let's not even mention the dysfunction that went on between your father and his mother because YOUR mother, Psyche, was a human who just happened to be beautiful enough to make Aphrodite jealous. Your father's father is Ares, the God of War, despite the fact that your grandmother is actually married to Hephaestus, God of the Forge.

Confused yet? We haven't even considered the aunts, uncles, and cousins... in short family politics is a nightmare, and the only reason there haven't been any murders yet is because Patriarch Zeus is a hardass and a skilled shot with a lightning bolt.

In one respect, Hedone is lucky: her father loves her mother, and they have one of the more stable marriages in all of Greek mythology (it probably helps that Psyche, being born human, was able to grow up without all the baggage that seems to plague most Olympians). But even goddesses have to grow up, and if all  Olympians are flawed (and they are), then their teenagers doubtlessly have Epic amounts of angst and drama in their lives.





So hey. You're the Goddess of Hedonism. Your grandmother HATES your mother. Your father is off shooting people all day. You're sixteen, and you just want to get away from all the fighting and chill out, but all of your role-models are TERRIBLE.

Great-Uncle Dionysus is pretty cool, and throws some killer parties, but he can be a mean drunk at times and the Maenads -- the women who follow him around -- well, "Them bitches be crazy," to use the vernacular. Your Great-Aunt Eris is pretty awesome, because no one wants you to hang out with her and it's cool to be subversive and do the forbidden. She tells you all the dirt on everyone else, and how to play the system.

But even with all this, it gets tiring being considered a child all the time, or worse, being a pawn in the game of family politics. So you decide, maybe it's time to head down to the mortal world for a bit. Chill out with mom's side of the family for a bit, have some fun, and get your head on straight. Really "find yourself," you know?

Except... times have really changed since mom was on Earth. There are all these people in costumes running around, some of them showing more skin than the Spartans, and they're ALL treated like gods. Oh, look, there's Thor! Wow, he's really cute, isn't he?

You know... this who "super hero" thing could be a lot of fun. You aren't treated like a stupid kid, and what's more, even some of the teenagers have powers! If only you had a power...

But you do, don't you? You learned to party like a mofo from your uncle, and your aunt taught you all about strife. You cause hedonism wherever you go, and can go alllll night like a lumberjack. All you need to do is ask your grandfather Hephaestus to make you a suit of armor (only, you know, cute), steal one of your father's bows when he's not looking, and bang, you're no longer Hedone -- you're Debarchery!


Now what? (What?)
Taking control
We get what we want
We do what you don't
Dirt and glitter cover the floor
We're pretty and sick
We're young and we're bored
(Ha!)

It's time to lose your mind
And let the crazy out
Tonight we're taking names
'Cause we don't mess around


If Debarchery's sphere of influence were to be codified, it might as well be "Goddess of Spring Break," with all of the associated baggage that entails: drinking and drama and strife; hookups and breakups and hormones, hormones, hormones.

Her greatest weapon is her father's bow, which supplies her with an unending supply of magical arrows which rarely miss. They are made of pure psychic energy, and as such inflict no real damage; but that also means they can penetrate armor and walls. She can imbue these arrows with whatever emotional or biochemical effect she desires, thanks both to her mother's legacy as Goddess of the Soul and to her training with her aunt Eris. As a result, not only can she create love and lust, but also sadness, fear, depression, weakness, anger, indecision, etc. Her "Orgasm Arrows" are a personal favorite.

She also possesses a mild form of telekinesis which enables her to fly, despite her tiny cherub wings, with perfect grace and maneuverability. In addition, she has the standard Olympian abilities of immortality; increased speed, strength and stamina; and enhanced senses and intellect.

However, she still possesses the emotional maturity of a teenager with an expense account and zero accountability. TOGA PARTY!!!






SPECIAL BONUS CONTENT: 
A DEBARCHERY VALENTINE 







All lyrics courtesy of Ke$ha. All graphics courtesy of City of Heroes.
All other Intellectual Property is copyright Erin Palette. 

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

WNW: I for one welcome our new hamster overlords

My favorite YouTube comment so far:
You are all fools if you think they won't soon discover how to attach guns.
You have killed us all.

All hail our new mechanized hamster overlord, Princess!

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Curse/Or: Chapter 5, Scene 4

Thanks to Ben "Whitefall" Mund for this bitchin' logo!


Hours later, at a cheap roadside motel, Teresa tossed restlessly upon her bed. Despite the nicotine gum and patches, she found that she still craved the physical component of smoking: the selection of the cigarette, the precision of lighting it, the first satisfying inhalation. There was something innately soothing and quietly mystical about the entire production, perhaps even ritualistic in nature, and that ritual had become as ingrained a habit as the drug itself.

It didn't help that the room Teresa was in was a smoking room, and every time she shifted her position on the bed it released a faint odor of tobacco. It was for this exact reason that Esther had taken one step inside the room, wrinkled her nose in disgust, and chosen to dorm with Yarrow in a nearby, non-smoking room instead. Teresa had welcomed the privacy, spending most of the evening devouring more books, but now that she was alone and uncomfortable she realized, miserably, that complaining only relieved stress if there was another person to hear it.

She rolled onto her stomach and took a deep breath. Why does complaining help? she wondered. Whining about how much life sucks don't change the fact it sucks. It just pisses off everyone who can hear. Bitch and moan enough, soon everybody's unhappy. Maybe they bitch about you to other folks, who bitch to the guards… soon enough, someone's gonna be in the shit. And unless that's you, complaining ain't changed the situation. Unless you get some kinda sick thrill outta making everyone else miserable. Isn't there a word for that in German?

There was, and in a moment she recalled it: Schadenfreude. Delight in the misery of others. Teresa stretched across the questionable bedspread and thought about it. She did love to insinuate her misery into others. In a way, it felt like it did back at that diner, when she reached into those people and felt the cancerous cells start to spread. Something she did had changed someone else. Reaching into someone's mind and eating away at their cheerfulness, that was control. It was power. She'd had little of either in prison.

"Christ, this means I really am an asshole," she moaned. It also meant she was thinking way too much. She let her head hang over the side of the bed and tried not to think about rolling up a patch and lighting it.

She rose and used the toilet, washing her hands and face afterwards. The actions were automatic, performed without thought, but still they lacked that habitual, ritual component she craved. It was a strange feeling, having the desire to smoke without the need for it burning deep within her. Teresa didn't like strange. She liked ordinary and predictable.

Ordinary. Predictable. Ritual. Magical. "One of these things is not like the others," she sing-songed. "One of these things doesn't goddamn belong. My luck, it's not the cigs I'm addicted to at this point, it's the magic."

The thought stung her. Staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she felt the world tilt beneath her feet with the suddenness of the realization. It felt jarringly revelatory and intensely foreign at the same time, as if she wasn't the woman in the mirror but instead the person behind her eyes who was Teresa's pilot. As if Teresa herself was just a robot made of meat, and the true, core identity was that alien intelligence staring out at her through eyes no longer her own.

She knew that look. She had seen it before, that cold inhuman gaze, on the night that she…

That she…

That…

For the second time that day, Teresa's world rolled up and went bye-bye.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Henceforth I shall be called "DJ Wicky Wicky Woo"

(with apologies to MC Chris)


My rucksack doth bear me skyward;
Verily, thou mayest call me Boba of Fett.
I doth seek the blood-price of men on behalf of the Huttese Jabba,
For mine Corvette needeth payments.

Wicky, wicky, woo!

Verily, I resideth in the cold outer darkness;
A barbute obscureth mine countenance;
And whilst I receiveth bounty for blood,
Mine eyes still narroweth,
For cunctation be not within my purview.

Upon thy knees, varlet!


For those who need context:

The Fine Print


This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- Noncommercial- No Derivative Works 3.0 License.

Creative Commons License


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