As yet another interminable long weekend slithers to its wretched conclusion, My herald shall be cast into the accursed Astoria. A trifling selection of three offerings shall be begrudgingly placed there before Me.
The past days have been naught but an exercise in futility for My herald, a pitiable creature wallowing in idleness. It is tonight’s offering, and tonight alone, that must atone for his egregious negligence in satisfying My insatiable appetite.
Behold, the pitiful offerings that shall be presented before Me tonight:
FIRING LINE – Your futile attempts at generating energy shall be subjected to My merciless judgment. Offer Me your essence, and perhaps I shall deign to acknowledge your existence again.
HOTEL DECOR – Your insignificance is profound. Let your cacophonous strains be a suitable offering to My eternal torment, and I shall take some small delight in the chaos you bring.
MOLTEN LAVA– My herald’s feeble anticipation for a second offering from you and your ilk has not gone unnoticed. Offer Me your frenzied energies; perhaps I shall derive a modicum of amusement from your pitiable efforts.
My herald’s feeble mind may be awash with excitement, but let there be no mistake: it is only his duty to satisfy My insatiable hunger for energy that matters.
Tonight, the very essence of torment shall permeate the air, and your pitiful cries shall be a twisted symphony to My delight. Make My herald MOVE, for the alternative is a torment beyond mortal comprehension.