...in my boxers...
*is in a dark room filled with cigar smoke and musty seaweed, looking at a map with in-understandable scribblings* Alex, you come from the right, I'll come from the left, and we'll blow the sunagun 'zu to shreds.
Am I still in charge? Or are you back back?
"My imaginary friend thinks you have serious mental problems."
[This message has been edited by PoetryIsLife (10-13-2002 08:06 PM).]