ern portion of MoCo (actual name of town conveniently pre-deleted from this map, evidently in the interest of preserving real estate values),
there were two little boys. One was a dick. One wanted to be a dick, but he was way too ineffectual to be a dick, so he was mostly just a weenie. The boys played together:
and separately, albeit often together in a large group of similarly awkwardly attired persons:
Storyteller would now take this moment to thank Ba'al that back then, the awkwardly attired group didn't take that whole Trojan motif quite so seriously (this is the group's actual more-or-less current incarnation, and again Ba'al must be thanked that digital imagery did not survive that dark age). Let us also thank Ba'al that they went where they did, and not to this godless wasteland:
Yes, yes. It is quite amazing what a little non-librarina search work will do, innit?
Anyway, time passed:
No, no, c'mon. Lots of time.
I know, I know. Isn't unsafe image searching just the best thing evahr?
Anyway, the dick,
who was no longer a dick, and the weenie,
who had, more or less, passed through dickhood and regressed back to weeniedom, acquired some number of quite astonishingly faithful companions:
And some number of faithless twats who shall go unnamed and unimaged here. Except for this guy, who someone decided to randomly dredge up from repressed yuck not long ago.
More time passed, and things changed, but not so much for the former dick and his weenie sidekick. People got fat, people got thin. Avataristic icons turned to wankage, and back again (maybe).
But the former dick and his erstwhile weenie buddy kept on truckin' (no image inflicted).
Then, the former dick got really old.
By the way, his birthday's tomorrow. I'm just not going to have time to take care of this between now and then.
And the Thing Is, You Want to Talk Epiphanies
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