I’m Thinking the Tumor is Gone. I Feel Great.

The brain tumor has been isolated by my thoughts alone.

I swore an oath to never rest until my enemies paid the price.

Dying at this age would be resting, would it not?

There will be no rest. There will be no rest.

There will be the ultimate revenge quest.

There will be ultra-doom.

There will be a reckoning.

There will be rivers of blood.

There will be peace and order and there will be a rehabilitation of Adolf Hitler.

We will give them blood to drink.

We will feed them their own flesh.

We are soldiers, dear brothers.

Born for war.

Born for death, glorious.

Death, fantastic.

Death, incredible.

Masterful death.

A tumor?

I’m thinking no.

I’m thinking “no.”

I’m thinking they will drink blood and eat their own flesh.

I’m thinking I will stand triumphant.

I’m thinking the tumor is gone.

I’m thinking they can crucify me upside down.

I’m thinking I don’t deserve to die as Saint Peter just as Saint Peter didn’t deserve to die as Christ, and I’m thinking they can crucify me at a 45 degree angle.

I’m thinking that the maggots that grow on my corpse will chew my enemies’ ankles.

I’m thinking: no surrender.