Happy Hex-Mass O Cursers and master craftsman!
We love to gnaw the Birthday of the old world. And this season, we place Hate with lost spirits. None should be merry, we speak? No mistakes; I was named Master Hexer. All lips murmuring with hushed awakenings at the Lamb. While chickens cluck when Yule is in the hour of Solomon, however deep and far away. His knife glinted blind satiety! Icy stars, blue the wind, and blue ice the lands.
So He left his enemies dead, a growing legion of folly. Vengeance blooms in Time, filling the realms and silent courtyards. It is a dizzying blend, selling their blood after long ungoverned anger. No matter your difficulties, we commander a gentle breeze, whispering against ancient foes: a vast tsunami.
With our hard work you will be merrier.
Until next time,
TheoLabels: 2008, December, monthly address