Matt comments:

I awake to the pertest of buttocks.  I lull back into what seems to be the most maddening of dreams.  I no longer realise what is real and what is my own insanity.  I fear.

I awaken and realise all are asleep, and thus decide to read awful Norwegian crime novellas.  I shudder and weep at the implausible prose.  I decide I cannot exist without others, I wake them and feel bad.  So bad.  They hate me. I hate myself,it is a circle, the weakest of structures.

The past few days have been a blur of conceptual kareoke, balmy warmness and hot pants.  I understand that hot pants are the folly of man, the new Babylon.  I shudder.

Ed is my erstwhile yet bumbling companion.  He is simple, child like and massive.  His tree-like arms could crush a child, I weep at his Steibeckian brutishness.  They understand nothing.  All of our adventues end in our own egotistical tyranny.  God protect us.

Simon arrives.  I hate him.

We listlessly wander around the city, full of contempt for each other.  Ice cream and gladii numbs the endless and unceasing pain.

Dragons, communism and lifting.  Brewing, piracy and felony.  I am numb.

I no longer know who or where I am, and thus cannot believe myself.

Help me.  Save me.

About the Author
Ed Gamester is a silly man who lives in the United Kingdom. He is the harbinger of Ghost Squad, singer of Gay Bum and author of A Rum Run Awry. He fights, kills and dies for TV and films, and gallivants around the place wrestling, drinking and lifting things for glory and profit. Where Ed treads, there stamp the boots of the Guild. Ed does not wear glasses, but feels this photograph makes him look more intelligent and artistically talented than he is. Feel free to contact him: he is disappointingly affable.

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