the fiendish plot of dr. wxrwxr-x
Grumpy Doug informs me that someone has registered killosama.com and pointed it to... er... a dating service.
my dreams, my works, must wait till after hell
I hold my honey and I store my bread
In little jars and cabinets of my will.
I label clearly, and each latch and lid
I bid, Be firm till I return from hell.
I am very hungry. I am incomplete.
And none can tell when I may dine again.
No man can give me any word but Wait,
The puny light. I keep eyes pointed in;
Hoping that, when the devil days of my hurt
Drag out to their last dregs and I resume
On such legs as are left me, in such heart
As I can manage, remember to go home,
My taste will not have turned insensitive
To honey and bread old purity could love.
If only I could live off cranberry juice. I don't enjoy eating at all any more. And at the risk of sounding curt, this isn't an invitation for anyone to send well-intentioned emails regarding my diet. I know. I'm doing what I can. I'm sorry.