fredag 2. mars 2018

Cannons, cinnamon and Cicero.

What dishonor can Sweden, France and Germany share?

They were all stopped by a Pyrrhic victory, courtesy of General Frost.

If you don't know either of these terms, I'm ashamed of you and your knowledge of history.

Betterment is, after all, a process, not an achievement.

Mars is laughing at us, isn't it? And where's Venus? Hiding, I pressume - not that there's anything wrong at hiding from hideous laughter, if you're able to.

And thus, the moon take her rightful place in the sky as cannons sounds, accompanied by fluit and drum, dark tunes of victories long past, reminding of us the future and the perils of absolute power.

A solemn tombone, a haunted tuba and a rather inisting trumpet - three instruments beginning with the letter Tango (but not the dancing form, mind you) - would all but cime in another musical piece of shine and proclaim the future.

Alas, such a fate is bleak: there are no cinnamon left.

Now practice the NATO phonetic alphabet, as of 1956 and present, please - you might need it sooner rather than later.

...wait, Civero? Oh, for... just google Skyrim, would you?!

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