another meeting with the saint of fuck all.

over the river and through the woods, you've dragged me quite far, haven't you? and we're close enough now that i can tell you about the rock digging into my back.

silly saint of fuck all, did you think you had me with your pesky little ropes and knots? let me tell you that you don't, and you won't, and you never could.

if you look back to all the ways i came before your cute little kidnapping, you'd see the fire and that goddamn brimstone. that's damn right i went through that shit barefoot, boots slung over my shoulder.

why? fuck that. my feet are fine, and i wasn't about to ruin my favorite docs in that crap.

so while you're wasting my time, trying to get me to crack, could you try to think up a five letter word for 'animal stomachs?' yeah, that's 15 down.

see, if you need it spelled out, you got nothing on me. four year olds have caused more damaged than you.

sorry, sir saint of fuck all, maybe you didn't do your research? my scars are prettier than my tattoos, and my hair is this color for a reason. i have no bad blood because i'm running on steel here.

no, it's not a bluff, and no, it doesn't hurt. do you need tips on playing mercy with a double-jointed pain freak? i wrote that fucking book, top goddamn seller.

you see, mr. fuck all, do you mind if i call you fuck all, the worst done came and went, and all without you here.

and this is me, standing my full five foot nine with shoulders pulled back and a foot in my mouth, saying "bring it the fuck on." cause i bet i got an answer to each dastardly gadget you've got stowed in that carpet bag. just let me lace up my boots, bitch.