Imagine yourself sprawled on a nameless battlefield, exhausted, gasping your final breaths into the mud. The air is thick with the scorched smell of spent artillery and the moans of the dying. How long before help arrives? Is it even coming? All you hear is the distant whistle of a locomotive, as it slowly approaches with detached menace.
toot toooooooooot
They’re coming to round up the survivors, you think as you squint into the hazy distance. The end is near. Best hope that it’s merciful when it comes. Surely this must be the onset of madness, brought on by impending extinction. The stench of carnage gives way to the comforting scent of… cheese pizza? Ice cream sundaes? Funnel cake? Continue reading
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