You have no room to talk you pathetic exscuse for a prophet.
As much as the pool is made from my tears, my tears fall from my cheeks in the sad diplay you have of our profession. Sit it the pool and whine to me, moan about your pathetic lonely life. And bless everyone in avalon bulimia. Run your big mouth t
o anyone who would hear your moan and complain.
Your childish actions and silly threats fall of deaf ears. For You are nothing to me. I also understand that now that I have your stones, you really can't do anything but bitch about it.
So go ahead, vent all your anger and frustrations in the bb. It seems it's the only thing that even remotely cares.
Written by my hand on the 11th of Hindyear, in the year 1071.