Woops! I guess the cat's out of the bag on that one! Who puts cats in bags anyhow? Cats HATE bags.
But only half right. I'm a mad god. The Mad God, actually. It's a family title. Gets passed down from me to myself every few thousand years.
You know, you remind me of myself at a young age. All I cared about was riding narwhales (sic) and sleeping in honeycombs and drinking babies' tears...
Was it Molag? No, no... Little Tim, the toymaker's son? The ghost of King Lysandus? Or was it... Yes! Stanley, that talking grapefruit from Passwall.
... and OUT comes the intestines! And I skip rope with them!
I once dug a pit and filled it with clouds....or was it clowns.... it doesn't matter, it didn't slow him down. But it really began to smell! Must have been clowns. Clouds don't smell, they taste of butter. And tears.
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