Got great fever today. Pinchbats tourney proved ineluctable, though squires in the wickets, dodgy sorts, loved the ladies with red knickers -- an unqualified success, to be sure. Heaven helps the hero who allows himself to be schooled by the coward, an individual who is nothing if not successful. Someday, someday we'll enjoy the feast due us, and then we may bring to table those who'd wish us starved. No great threats in the great hereafter.
I am a stained man. Honor flutters not to my exhalations. Breath, however, is the last resort of the living. My entire life, I have wished myself dead.
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