I’ve got a week of evil at the beach planned. Like a sandstorm we’ll bring ourselves like pox upon the unsuspecting residents and temporary workers of the Outer Banks. Like locusts, we’ll swarm consuming alcoholic beverages leaving kegs empty as the local alcoholic Irish population dehydrates. Vikings will not loot this week either because the mead makers will be running low do to my high level of consumption.
A week with evil and evil’s relatives. Idle hands are my playground and I intend to make my rounds. That’s how the Beast of Cville gets down. Sins like sands make a beach we can all sojourn to. Hopes like raindrops give rise to the typical humidity of the area. Plans like aspirations can only get you to the top of a hill before you tumble down the otherside due to whatever momentum you’ve brought with you. But standing on the apex is something to understand by being there. That apex is the next week.
I’ll be there, in the presence of Evil and her relatives basking. And as the wells run dry, the crime increases, and the panic sets in, I will finally get my relaxation.