Dearest Stage Mistress of the Black Hand

Dearest Stage Mistress of the Black Hand,

I must apologize.
I don’t have an admantium skeleton with razor sharp retractable claws that shoot out out my fists. For this I am sincerely sorry. I would say I’m working on it, but the Pentagon has turned down every single one of my applications. I think they’re not taking me seriously enough, but who knows, it is the Pentagon. I can say however I won a bare knuckle boxing match by default against a man named Logan (he pulled a knife on me). He was rather sore over the whole situation. I did win the $50 after all.

I see you’re a gunslinging Six String Samurai, I’m a bit of a Helter Skelter Ninja Poetic myself, I sling only Four Strings as it happens. We should duel to the death some moonlit midnight over a Captain’s Private Stock Bottle of Rum. Dance merrily with knives in our eyes and trade trade secrets of how the other half lives behind the Velvet Fireproof curtains. I’ll take center and you can back me up with your Eagle eye spotlighting lullabies.

What say you? Are you down for a Game of Thrones? Riddles in the Dark?

So long and thanks for all the fish.



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