Anon and His Friend the Knowable

The mysteries, you say? Far toward the front, push your way up you sap-hound well-wishers, and BURY YOUR FACE in the CAKE OF ALL-KNOWING. This frosting tempts your tickler and news of revelatory glee and glory spreads across the dingy face of every happy supplicant. ‘Tweren’t wurth your fraggin’ giggles and rejected by the system before the full 72 hours but you know what? That’s not earth’s problem anymore. The less the more, so to speak. Stylized coops of ordered elegance replace the domicile. The smooth white lines and chilly curl of the Frusen Glädjé. Trick liqueur and virtue engendered is the ultimate happystance.