The rival worlds collide. The peak of existence melts in your mouth, not in your hand. Hulkster, the bulkster, the skulkster, the sulkster. I am all these things, and yet, I am none of them. As facade as my witness, I sink nude like Swamp Thing into the pair of jeans inside my soul. I make a mark with coal. This mark says rhythm method of birth control.

Baby's got back. Baby is a troll stuck inside a hawaiian roll.

The birth will switch the celestial pole. Our love will no longer return null.