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some day i will hear, "your butane is ready, mr. president." after that i will but momentarily cease the torrent of earwigs streaming from my ears to take stock of the situation: commander in chief. a ready butane supply. the sandwich empire withdrawing its forces in defeat, in no small part due to my brilliant coup during the battle of steve. the bjork symphony orchestra, constantly playing hymns to the great bjorkess in the sky. ayoo-ha, ayoo-hep! joyous, to be sure. 65 thorns atankard, naughts cross by autumn if we want to live through the winte- hold on. yes, bjork orchestra, could you turn down the yell a bit? i am taking stock of the situation? thanks.
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