Kiss my arse. I'm the Lord of Murder - I'll show you why.

It's not you, it's me - I have standards.

I am so much more than what you made me.

I love this time of year. The dickheads start popping up.

Like moons make swell and wane the nescient seas, so too the sky-strewn gods ordain the tidal fates of mortal days. And yet - a notion born in lonely hours - come ebb, come flow, come all that is beyond the breadth of our dominion: be a moon unto yourself. Even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will.