David was roaring as Efron talked about supercolossal and supersupreme.

Where hunters and woodcutters once slept in their boots by the dying light of their thousand fires and went on, old teutonic forebears with eyes incandesced by the visionary light of a massive rapacity, wave on wave of the violent and insane, their brains stoked with spoorless analogues of all that was, lean aryans with their abrogate semitic chapbook reenacting the dramas and parables therein and mindless and pale with a longing that nothing save dark's total restitution could appease.

Are there any techy types around? My computer has stopped working.

The facelessness of the internet makes sockpuppetry all too tempting for many.