The fount has dried up.
This is it, ladies and gentlemen...not with a bang, but with a whimpering arrhythmia descending into a slow and painful loss of circulation. Tunnel vision, thick spittle, curtains.
Sure, I could make light of it.
Ha-ha! I'm no fun anymore, right? Isn't that so!?
I might even get away with a few excuses.
But no; you all deserve better than that.
I'm going to leave you this evening with another Exploitable, and I hope it offers enough chuckles to last into tomorrow...Lord knows I need the time to scrounge for material. And if it's good enough, I might just get to live the dream:
