Wednesday, April 30, 2008


Dear Blog Fam,

I'm pretty sure that today is the day I quit my life.

Not any morbid suicide thoughts or craziness like that so there's no need to send nobody to the house with them ugly ass white jackets.

But just... quit.

I'm tired. And life has been kicking my ass. And I like my ass. It's pretty. It's round and perky, it makes my jeans look pretty, it makes a nice cushion to sit on, it give my hips someone to talk to so they aren't lonely. So I just don't see how I can in good faith allow this to keep happening to my ass all the while knowing that my ass has been good to me.

Truth is I'm overwhelmed. And I dunno what to do about it. Or where to start. Because every time I get some clarity about anything...

...something else kicks me in my ass.

It's always something isn't it?

So I'm kinda exhausted. I wish I could somehow eloquently state the toll that the last couple years have had on me but I don't think even I have fully grasped it yet, so it's even harder to relay that to you. But I feel it. I'm weary.

So no more running. No more walking. I think I'll lay.

Can somebody send me some Chinese food to the crib please? Broccoli and chicken, extra brown sauce on the side. And an egg roll. And if anybody is near DC if you could stop by Danny's in NE and get a sista some chicken wings I swear I'll have your babies. Oh and send a bottle. Of whatever.

Thanks kiddies!!! :-)

Sincerely Yours (curled up in a ball in the bed watching The L Word),

La :-)

Friday, April 25, 2008

In the Meantime...

Cannon tagged me! So here are 6 random facts about me before I give you the answers to the post below, just in case there are a few stragglers.

Here are the rules...

1. link the person who tagged you…
2. mention the rules in your blog…
3. tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours
4. tag 6 following bloggers by linking them
5. leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged

1. I can forge anything.

This came in quite handy in high school, but I'm pretty sick with anything that involved studying and imitation. It's probably one of the reasons I chose acting as a profession. But usually after a few tries, I can forge any one's signature. If I listen long enough, I can mimic the pitch of your voice, your accent, and your inflection. Damn shame to be so talented.

2. I'm in love with driving.

Anything. I love driving my truck. (preferably as fast as I can safely get away with) Next I wanna learn how to drive a stick because I think shifting gears is really hot for some reason, lol. (and I wanna 1964 and a half Mustang and they were only made with sticks) I want a motorcycle. I NEED to learn how to fly a helicopter. I have no idea where that compulsion came from other than a general loving of all things adrenaline inducing. I have no idea how to even go about accomplishing it. I have no idea what purpose it will serve in my life, other than making me feel really hot because I can say I have my pilot's license. But I neeeeeeed it, lol

3. There is no cartilage in my left knee.

I may or may not have disclosed that before. But this is one of many side effects from many hours of dance classes. This is gonna go over everybody's head other than probably Duck's, but because I am right handed, my right side was predominantly my working side in any dance class. So my right leg was generally the one stretching, turning, extending, leaping, etc, etc. Which is all fine and dandy except that meant that my left leg was the one supporting my body doing all that foolishness. One day in a ballet class late in my senior year of high school, I was doing fouette turns and trying to prep myself for pirouettes a la seconde (you can fast forward to 8:45 to see what kinda turns I was trying to do) and I went one way and my knee went the other. Eeep! That's when the doctor told me I didn't have any cartilage below my knee cap and that essentially my knee cap was rubbing against the top of whatever bone that goes down the front of your leg and that I needed to take it easy.

So, you know, I went to tap class, lol.

4. I hate taking medicine.

I refuse to take it. The only medicine I will take regularly is birth control and that's only because I had the idea of having children more than I hate taking medicine. I'm sure part of it is my penchant for all natural remedies (I'd much rather take a peppermint bath for congestion and body aches than Nyquil that will have me all fucked up) but part of it is just that I don't think all medicines work. I think it's a mental thing. People get headaches, their first inclination is to pop two Tylenol, and give it 15 minutes to work. Rather than listening to our bodies which might be telling us that it's tired or stressed or sick in some other way, we just want it gone as quickly and conveniently as possible. I guess it is indicative of our microwave culture, but I just don't buy it. Medicine is way too Big Business for me to be completely trusting of it. And why on earth does allergy medicine carry the risk of anal leakage?

5. I'm really good with my hands.

And not (just) in that way. When I was younger, I was always taking things apart and trying to put them back together. It was just fascinating to me for some reason. As I got older it kinda stuck. It has mostly relegated itself to building things, lighting design and home improvement projects (if the market wasn't so ridiculous right now, I would so redo houses to flip) but I am kinda sick with any kinda tool. I think my favorite thing I have done so far is at my old house in Atlanta. Me and my daddy stripped and sanded all our kitchen cabinets (power sanders are the BEST) and re-stained the wood a dark cherry color. We cut and laid tiles on the floor and marble for the counter and built shelves into the walls.
See? Sick.

6. I am a jack of all trades and a master of nothing.

In theory. My life is an amalgamation of randomness. I can do all this stuff but of course because I love doing all this stuff and I pick it up quickly and I'm good at all this stuff, it seems like I lack focus. It's certainly not that, it's just that I hate learning one thing and just sticking with it and never doing anything else, lol. (None of that has ever been so evident as it has been recently while updating my resume and even I had to go, "How did I learn all this stuff?") I like it about myself. I think it kinda makes me quirky. But I guess I can see how some people would mistake it for flightiness. Oh the artist was always so misunderstood, lol

I ain't tagging nobody. I'm pretty sure everyone in our little incestuous blog circle has already done this or been tagged. But if you hadn't and, like me, you're floundering for blog posts, have at it! lol

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Birthday List

I'm SO late, as back-to-back loser weeks after my birthday clearly sent me spiraling into a sleeping-too-much-cheese-fries-eating-Bacardi-tossing depression. But I'm (semi) more stable now and since all of you who have been reading for awhile know that I will never complete a trip recap, I present to you the following fun filled list of things La may or may not have done during the last 2 weeks of travelling and such to celebrate her birthday. You guys can battle it out in the comments and decide which ones did and didn't happen.

I might even (kiss and) tell...


1. Gotten a new piercing.

2. Dropped $500 on clothes and shoes... in a day.

3. Eaten a dozen cupcakes... mostly by herself.

4. Slept with a blogger.

5. Slapped a meter maid.

6. Had a dance break in the middle of the airport because "Cold Hearted Snake" came on her I-pod and she may or may not know all the choreography.

7. Turned down a date from a very well known NBA player.

8. Kissed a girl.

9. Started a fight

10. Had sex in a parking garage up against a truck

11. Gotten drunk before 11am.

12. Fallen out of a tree.

13. Convinced a guy to dump his fiance.

14. Gotten a(nother) tattoo.

15. Learned to float on her back (not to be confused with...)

16. Called The Ex

17. Got arrested for stealing from Walgreen's.

18. Filmed my first independent *ahem* adult movie (not starring me)

19. Cut off all my hair and dyed it blond

20. Got fired from my job for showing up intoxicated.

21.Organized an impromptu karaoke contest

22. Unknowingly trafficked X.

23. Met someone who might change her professional life

24. Moved in with Bob.

25. Went to a Scientology information meeting.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

The Audacity of Hope

I like to clean.


Like, a lot.

I'm very organized. Everything is sorted and filed, color coordinated and labeled. My closet is absurd. My shoes are mostly still in boxes, labels out. Arranged by box size. My clothes color blocked and arranged by length. My drawers perfectly board folded. The toiletries in my bathroom are perfectly aligned in a subtle arc, ordered from tallest to shortest. I clean off my desk everyday before I leave work as best I can.

It is my way.

I'm hardly rigid in this, naturally.

Sometimes I'll do laundry and they'll stay in a heap at the foot of my bed until they're reworn. I can never bring myself to unpack after trips. I refuse to vaccuum everyday so Honey's long blond hair is all over everything. I've reconcilled that dog hair will be a part of my every outfit.

So what draws the line between pleasantly nuerotic (as I believe myself to be) and straight up OCD?

Lines are important, boundaries if you will. I've never been one for them. I've spent most of my formative years trying to figure out how to bend and fold them or completely obliterate them at my will. As I (unfortunately) settle into real adulthood, I find that while I still prefer to swipe my foot slyly across the proverbial line in the sand, I do respect boundaries more.

A little.

The problem for me has always been that lines are so...well, straight. And I most certainly am not. If boundaries are straight black lines, I'd fancy myself to be colorful ellipses drawn on the edge of the paper.

You know, crazy and shit.

There is one line I think I've crossed unknowingly, travelling from my comfortable home state of Hopeful Cynic, directly into the center of town in Cynical right over the bridge.

I always maintained that despite my acerbic wit and my reliance on sarcasm as though it were my life's breath (cuz it is), that there was some kinda balance. I wasn't the bitter, broken bitch telling you how all men are dogs. I was simply the person gently as possibly pointing out that maybe an affair with a married man wasn't the best way to ensure longterm domestic bliss.

Even now, I don't engage in male bashing or long drawn out bitch sessions with my friends.

I just don't know if I believe.

For me that is.

I find myself being a champion for my friends' causes. Of COURSE you should go after that job. We'll figure out a way to get you out of debt. You're getting married? (Why?!?) Congrats! If you like him, go after him. Otherwise you'll always regret it.

For myself? Notsomuch.

When did I cross the line between charmingly self depreciating and just plain ole hopeless?

I think maybe, over the course of the last few years, this is what I mourn with the greatest ferocity. The loss of my ability to hope. To feel the full weight of every connection without it getting to a certain point and me growing numb to it, or worse, doubting it. I don't hope for the best anymore. I just hope that when it's all said and done I won't be too devastated.

And isn't that the saddest thing? To go into everything waiting for the other shoe to drop? When did my ellipses get so black and white and gray?

I want to believe again. In something. Anything. Anyone. I desire it wholeheartedly.

I just can't get the closets in my mind clean enough to make room for the possibility. Maybe I'm just not obessive compulsive enough.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Today I was an Oxymoron

I have lived my entire life as a contradiction. Today was no different. Although it was probably the most egregious and ostentatious display of my eccentricities. So here's how it went...

From the outside looking in it looks like a pretty girl who has been up (read: drunk) for 4 days in a moderately priced car with alumni plates... driving in the hood blasting Garbage.

Real Talk.

As I drove to the beauty supply store yesterday (why is it that niggas only go to the hood to get chicken and go to the beauty supply store?) I would be lying if I said I didn't feel how ridiculous and out of place it all was and had a little laugh with myself. And I'm not even gonna front like I didn't turn the Garbage down so it wasn't blaring out the windows as I got deeper in the hood.

Thus is the story of my life.

There aren't too many hoods I'm afraid to go to (except for this one joint in Philly I went to once with this dude I was kicking it with from NYC. No offense Canon but Philly niggas are rough. Never been so shook in my life, lol). But I am very much so aware of some of the glaringly obvious signs that you ain't from these parts (if you roll through Hollywood Court blasting the Roots, you're not from there). But this is what I'm used to.

My whole life has been about the sum of it's parts, amplifying and adding when necessary, subduing when appropriate, but all the ingredients still being in tact. I guess this is what you get when you're an exceptionally intelligent Catholic school girl minister's kid artist who grew up on the eastside/southwest side of Atlanta?

Most people, if they truly think about it, can't define themselves with just any one label. Somewhere there's always the southern Episcopalian who supports abortion. Or the conservative white CEO who secretly likes T.I.

When I was much younger, I tried as much as I could to hide those parts of me that stood in contrast to my surroundings. As a kid you wanna belong. In Catholic school I chose not to comment on the fact that my parents were divorced and I knew every lyric to just about every Tupac song ever made. Once I got to public school, I tried to remember what I talked like before spending most of my days with suburban white kids and carefully hid my Metallica cds behind mixtapes picked up at Greenbriar. When I got to high school, I was trying to be the model student and consummate artist (which was prob slightly closer to who I was to become) so I pretended that I didn't know how to roll a perfect blunt and that my right hook wasn't (and still is) sick.

As I've gotten older, the jagged boundaries where these idiosyncrasies lie have grown smoother. They blend together a little more harmoniously. My temper isn't nearly as bad but I WILL fight you, don't be stupid. When you open one of my multiple my massive CD cases, Alanis Morrisette is the first thing you see...swallowed swiftly by Alicia Keys and a French pop group you've never heard of and I can't pronounce, all in clear sight. I just as readily quote the bible as I do Outkast. I'm comfortable in the hood or on the hill. I can rock $200 pumps to jump a fence just like I can wear a pair of Forces to a 4 star restaurant.

It's just who I am.

So I turned my Garbage back up as I left (with my weave and my chicken) and rolled my windows back down. When I got to the light near the liquor store, a dude in a chameleon paint Escalade to my left motioned for me to turn my music down. I ignored him and his platinum smile at first but he quickly grew more insistent and I figured this one time wouldn't hurt me. I lowered my music and rolled my window down all the way... he turned up his Carrie Underwood.

Oh you too huh?

Thursday, April 3, 2008


So finally, after moving to this new crib months ago, I have finally unpacked the last box. All the archives are moved over. And in honor of this, I leave you with a list of my greatest hits. Posts that I love to this day, even some that are real vintage. Catch up on them and see why I'm crazy.

And, oh, just because Rashan and Epsi stroked my ego so nicely, find below something new I've been working on ;-)

(this may or may not be directly related to the fact that I will probably kinda mia til week after next. IT'S MY BIRTHDAY BITCHES!!!!!!)



On the Other Side of the Gate

The Stupid Girl's Guide to Getting Over an Ex...

Bitches be Hatin' Part 1

Bitches be Hatin' Part 2


The Other Side of the Brown Paper Bag

Glass Houses

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

My Favorite Accessories to Every Outfit

The Magic City

Psychosensory Insecurity Interlude

The Return

Things I Believe as an Atlanta Native


And Yet it Stays the Same

And in Case I Don't See you, Good Afternoon, Good Evening and Goodnight

The Games we Play

Back Story


Watch What you Say to Me

La's List of Things Not to do When You go out with the Wildest Chicks on the Planet





One Word

Throwing up the Rock

The Burial

Old Buildings
I want to turn a light on but I'm afraid it will scare her. I gave up trying to talk long ago, reasonable conversation long since abandoned for four letter exclamations and yelling that has now given way to silence. I’m watching her, this flurry of motion, moving so fast that the intricacies of her actions are barely visible to my naked eye. She is raw energy, tears on her cheeks, flashes of color from the clothes she is hastily throwing into one of those expensive duffle bags women love with the letters on them. I always told her I never understood the need to advertise something as personal as how much money we make. She always shrugged me off and said we should be proud.

The lightening flashes outside and throws shadows into our bedroom that pool in the corners of the mint colored walls. One of those girly colors I never would have thought to pick out on my own. A color she picked out. Because we need something soft in our bedroom she said.

Our bedroom.

That she is now vacating.

Anger coils tightly inside me like a snake about to strike as I watch her empty her drawers into more bags, never meeting my eyes. Hurrying around me like I'm not even there. I open and close my fists, drag nails through my close cropped hair. She reaches for her jewelry box and I call her name.


She jumps a mile out of her skin like she wasn't aware I was in the room with her. She doesn't acknowledge me, never even turns around and gives me her face. She goes still.

"You can't do this," I say to her, my usually steady voice betraying my anger. "You can't."

She turns slowly and I can see even in the pale wisps of midnight moon that her eyes have gone flat. She's detached. She's a woman but she can turn off her emotions that way. She shrugs at me.

"And why not?" she asks me like I am one of the witnesses she cross examines. She asks me as though it's the most matter of fact, logical question on earth. "As a matter of fact," she says, bobbing her head up and down indignantly, "I believe I am already doing it."

"Carmen would you kill this fucking self righteous act? THINK about what you're doing. You cannot do this."

"I know what I'm doing."

"No you don't. What is this some kinda early midlife crisis? Have you even thought this through? Where are you gonna go? What are you gonna tell your co-workers? Your family? Our friends?"

This slows her but only for a minute. She shifts her weight and runs shaky hands through her long straight mane. She is no longer corporate lawyer. She's just her flawed and beautiful self, thinking about her family and friends, more than she usually does herself. For a moment, as she repeatedly rakes her hair out of her face with tiny hands, she is once again just Carmen, the girl I fell in love with in college, stressed about not getting an A on an exam and studying for law school two years too early. She is the girl who couldn't sleep unless she was glued to my left side. Who I have cooked countless meals for. Who sleeps in my shirts when I'm away. Who I've made love to on 6 continents. She is the girl who once sat on a park bench with me chewing her bottom lip and asking too many questions, and marvelling at the way her small hand fit in my large one.

But we aren't those people anymore.

Nor are we even a we, but just she and I, her still chewing her bottom lip and firing off questions, but for very different reasons.

"I am so sorry."

"No you're not. Sorry means that if given the same set of circumstances you wouldn't do the same thing. You would. You would even though you see how this is fucking with me."

She steps back away from me, probably shocked that I am using such harsh language. I am not a man prone to emotional outbursts.

"I have to do this," she says to me, barely above a whisper. "Please try and understand."

"WHAT?!?! HELL no. I don't understand this at all. You made a promise-"


"And now I am just supposed to look the other way while you break it."

"This is different-"

"It's not different! It's not different at all. It's just what you want so you want me to fall in line."

"This is just something I need to do. For me. For us. Can you please try, for just a second, to see where I am coming from here?"

"If it was me, if the situation were reversed, would you? Would you see it from my point of view? Would you stand here and watch me pack my shit so I could leave you?!?"


"Then where the fuck do you get off asking me for understanding, huh?"

"I know I don't deserve your understanding or your sympathy but please. Please. This isn't easy for me either."

"It certainly seems like everyone is getting what they want but me."

"That's not true. I don't want to hurt you. You don't believe that. I love you. I don't want to hurt you."

"But you are Carmen! To hell with what you want, you are."

I see tears shining in her eyes but I can't seem to stop myself from being cruel. I love her. But I want her hurting like she's hurt me. I feel like someone has thrown me down and dragged me naked over glass. I want her bleeding right along next to me.

"So is this about sex? This is about pussy?" I ask her coldly and I watch her flinch. I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. "Or what? You're about to turn thirty and you're scared of getting old and missing out on life? Early midlife crisis? This is your alternative to fucking the pool boy up against the side of the house?"

"Don't do that. Don't make this all about sex. It's not and you know it."

"Bullshit. Bullshit Carmen! If it's not about that then what is it? What reason is good enough for you to leave our home? What are you so afraid of?"

"Not knowing."

We both go still, saying the kinds of things in that silence that you can never give breath to in real time.

She breaks away first, grabbing her bags off the bed, all of them bulging at the seams and none of them zipped, rushing past me without touching like I'm contagious. I grab her arm, hard enough to stop her but not hard enough to cause her fear. She doesn't turn around so I lean down to speak to her hair.

"Is it that you don't love me anymore?"

She drops her things and turns to me, her face stricken, grabbing my cheeks in her hands.

"Are you kidding me? No. No. Never. I have loved you half my life. Loving you is the only thing I have ever done worth doing. But I-" she falters, her eyes momentarily finding her feet. "I have to know. I love you. But I have to know." She is crying now, tears catching the edges of her thick lashes and sliding down her full cheeks. For a moment we are still that way, her hands on the sides of my face, my hands covering hers, our eyes on the floor.

She finds my lips. Kisses me. I feel her tears hit my face under our kisses. She generously gives me her tongue, reaches up and wraps her arms around my neck. I gather her up in my arms like she weighs nothing, kissing her with everything in me, and hoping, somehow, it is enough. After a long while we fall away from each other, breathless. Panting. Tears staining both our skin. Across the distance, her hand finds mine, and I see her watching our intertwined fingers like she did way back when. She's shaking her head over and over a million times, her hair wild from my fingers, her eyes rimmed red. She finally gives me her gaze.

"Tell me not to go," she says, so small, so soft that if I weren't holding my breath an exhale would have drowned her out.

Silence stretches like miles between us.

She limply lets my hand drop.

"Thank you," she mumbles and turns on wobbly legs. She stops just long enough to pick up her bags, not bothering with the items that have fallen out in her haste. She hurries to the door like she's being chased. Long after the echoes of her footsteps have faded down the hall, I am still standing where she left me, hands hanging at my sides, watching the door like the mere force of my wanting will propel her back through it. She never comes.

The silence settles around me, heavy like a wet blanket. I guess this is what it sounds like when there are no more words left to say.

This is the story of how my wife left me for another woman.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

I Am in Love...

...with Andy Borowitz.

Below are some of his articles on current politics. Enjoy!

* * * * * * * *

Bush to Phase Out Environment by 2009
Andy BorowitzSat Mar 29, 3:00 AM ET

President George W. Bush confirmed today that his gutting of the Endangered Species Act is part of a broader plan to phase out the environment entirely by the time he leaves office in January 2009.

"In addition to cutting taxes, it has been the goal of this administration to cut our wasteful, bloated environment," Mr. Bush said in a speech before the Association of Indiscriminate Applauders in Washington, D.C.

In his speech, Mr. Bush added that the EPA would henceforth be renamed the Environmental Prevention Agency.

The president said that by removing endangered species from the protected list one by one, his administration has been able to phase out the environment gradually "so that hardly anyone will notice it's missing."

But the president warned that "much work remains to be done" if the environment is to be completely phased out by the first quarter of next year and called for the accelerated extinction of all superfluous organisms by the end of fiscal 2008. "It is time for all Americans to take sides," Mr. Bush said. "Are you with us, or are you with the black-tailed prairie dog?"

Mr. Bush's plan also calls for a gradual reduction of air and water, with water most likely to get the axe.

"If it comes down to choosing between air and water, the president will probably scrap water," said Environmental Prevention Agency chief Stephen L. Johnson. "After all, most Iraqis have been without water since 2003, and look how well they're doing."

Elsewhere, after Pope Benedict XVI prayed for peace on Easter Sunday, Vice President Dick Cheney requested equal time for war.


Original Article

Calling Hillary a Monster "Offensive," Monsters Say
Andy BorowitzSat Mar 15, 3:00 AM ET

An Obama campaign aide's remarks in which she called Sen. Hillary Clinton (D-N.Y.) a "monster" have ignited a firestorm of controversy among monsters across the U.S., prominent monsters confirmed today.

Calling Hillary Clinton a monster is "odious and offensive to monsters everywhere," said Tracy Klujian, the executive director of the Monster Anti-Defamation League, a group that monitors unflattering portrayals of monsters and miscreants in the media.

"As monsters, we are subject to defamation and stereotyping on a daily basis," Mr. Klujian said. "But being lumped together with Hillary Clinton is really a low blow."

Mr. Klujian said that he was pleased that the Obama aide had resigned over the "monster" remark but said that "more work will need to be done" if the Illinois senator is to mend fences with the monster community.

"We monsters count for as much as 5 percent of the vote in Pennsylvania," Mr. Klujian said. "And that number is even higher in Pittsburgh."

Perhaps in an effort to steer clear of the controversy, Sen. Clinton herself dodged the issue of whether or not Sen. Obama is a monster in an upcoming interview on "Sixty Minutes."

"He's not a monster as far as I know," she told Steve Kroft in an interview to air this Sunday. "I mean, I take him on the basis of what he says, and, you know, if he says he's not a monster, there isn't any reason to doubt that."

Elsewhere, Rep. Ron Paul said that he is dropping out of the GOP race but would continue to run for president of Earth II.


Original Article

Bush Reveals Tap Water as Prescription-Drug Plan
Andy BorowitzSat Mar 22, 3:00 AM ET

On a day when millions Americans were reeling from the news that there were trace amounts of prescription drugs in their drinking water, President George W. Bush made a stunning announcement at the White House.

"I am responsible for this," Mr. Bush told reporters. "This is my idea of a prescription-drug plan."

Standing before a banner reading "Prescription Accomplished," the president said that he hoped providing Americans with free medications via their tap water would prove to be "the finest legacy" of his administration.

Mr. Bush indicated that America's drug-laced waters could boost tourism in the United States, adding that English rocker Pete Doherty was "getting on the next plane over here."

Across the country, the announcement that President Bush had doped America's drinking water with dozens of prescription medications drew a variety of reactions.

"It makes me proud to be an American," said pitching great Roger Clemens.

Responding to the news that she had been imbibing anti-anxiety drugs in her water, New York resident Carol Foyler said, "I'm not worried about it, but come to think of it, I'm not worried about anything anymore."

But Atlanta's Tracy Klujian said that he believes all drinking water in the United States should come with a warning label indicating possible side effects. "I had a glass of water yesterday, and I had an erection lasting more than four hours," he said.

Elsewhere, shuttle astronauts planned to assemble the first robot in outer space, despite warnings that the robot would kill them and take over the ship.


Original Article