He-Man and the Masters of th, submitted by Josh. Dear Lord, no.
“Ambassador Snout Spout and General Hoof are waiting to meet with you again about the treaty.”
Adam groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I forgot about that. Tell them to come back tomorrow.”
“But Sire, you said you would settle their dispute today.”
“Well, I haven’t figured anything yet. Send them away.”
“As you wish, my Lord, but they will not be pleased.”
“No, your Highness.”
“You are dismissed.”
Duncan walked a few feet, then turned back. “Speaking as your friend . . . Adam, is there anything wrong? You don’t seem yourself.”
Adam stared blankly. “Am I good?” he muttered.
“What was that?”
“Am I a good man?”
“What if I did a terrible thing? Would I then, still be good?”
“What? Have you done something?”
“Only in thought. But isn’t that the same thing, really?”
“I don’t understand you.”
I don't understand either. Luckily I don't want to.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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