It’s slightly ridiculous, isn’t it? A talking mammal.

I often think that I might like to be a vital cog in some interdimensional battle between good and evil.

But here I am, a talking mammal stuck on a mouldy little pebble orbiting slow-burn fusion reaction in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.

We’re just like moths really, buzzing erratically around a warm glowing thing. Except I don’t think moths celebrate themselves quite so much.

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