He never stopped to think that he was getting bolder. When his spam came to an end He tried to grasp for his last spam and pretend that he could wish himself more spam on a four-leaf clover.
He said is this the return to more spam ? The grass is dead, the gold is spam and the sky has claws. There's a wind-up marcusmaximus walking round and round What once was a beautiful FReeper City is now a spamming town.
Its three o' clock in the morning. he gets a phone call from the dancing Zelensky queen with a hundred heads. He says that they're all dead and we killed them all.
He tried the last spam one on, couldn't post, fell off and now just wanders round and round the halls. Still thinking nothing, nothing is wrong.
His sunken face and his wild, rolling eyes, his callous words reveal he has lost his mind. He lost his place and now it can't be found. He'll always be the spaming wind-up man walking round and round with no brain at all.
