I'm in your face again, and why? I have forgotten since it is no longer important, because now your breath enrages and inspires me dome to thrust forward and transform that fat snoot into a bloody explosive. Tongue swipes the finger tip of the delta unfolding from me jester dreamed skull savouring the red stream that creeped to the corner of me mouth. Accustomed to tasting, I do not devour for now is the hour when me feet squelch them cursed eyeballs marked with stupidity. Tis like summer and buckets full of over-ripe grapes... What friend of mine wishes to start the festivity with a toast?