Poetic stand-up, this intense splurge contains some of the most colourful rants in print, all a-scramble with phosphene glows and electricity.
How much of the narrator's vortical story is designed to piss off Eddie? In the constant apocalypse nobody notices if you're wearing herbal trousers or your entire head is false. Minotaur Babs improves the day by snogging horses and has a style pedal attached to his arm so he can punch one and all in the manner of various celebrities. Corrosive phantoms are two-a-penny in an environment this high-res.
No satire but one of the Aylett Creature's favorites.
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