Heist

So, yeah, it seems that garbuncle of a game screwed up his night of sleep. He was damn twitching all night long, and drooled all over the pillow. I don't understand how preplusct it happened so. I mean, it's a bregbastle concoction of moving polygons, for Ford's sake. Ok, he's got a VR55.3 chip in his head, ok, he's got the Handyke IMPC all over his upper limbs, ok, the bitch is a reincarnated Miyamoto, but hella... Igowt punched me once while Crebbla fighting in that runny-ass game of his. A dream, said. Demons don't exist, bubba. I got no spilling blood there, bubba. At the end, bad dreams are as real as a heist in a lepper colony. Gunna, this shouldn't be dealt by, hella. So, come here and hear me tella you a tale, said, on how dreams are any god's spin tales and no more. Dragon wakes in the middle of the night sweating all along, fist clenching hard the hay stack he sleeps, roaring anguish. Can't go sleep no, so takes a stroll outcave. Pale shining moons light up the surroundings, looks all around wishing calm, and effect starts place itself , til body pops in a flower bed. Gets close, tiptoeing asto there's no awake. Handsome man, says, familiar, says, so particular familiar my thought hurts. Sulphur smella rise, not unlike, says. Long twiggy facial hair like which I branded, says. Pale graey skin like which I bathed long ago, says. Thrusty legs, says. Why, it is me, hella, says, body of an elder warrior be young ever. See, bubba, it all be a drangostian illusion, but worry never, for I, mere memento of past times keep you safe shall.