The next year there were many victories. The thick clouds of mosquitoes that roamed the city strewn with the corpses of cars managed to collect themselves and walk and talk and hope and dream like you and I and thus The Cucks and The Truth and the mosquito collective struck a truth. The Cucks began filling the open air artisanal market with actual goods that you could buy with actual currency (always empty Miller Lite cans and bullets). The Truth learned to fire AK-47s, pretended to rage against the so called ghost of freedom, even learned to hold down The Cucks’s homebrewed Red Bull without vomiting up their new imbibed patriotism. The mosquito collective only drained the blood of those who were not Cuck or Truth, except R and I.

We first met the mosquito collective when they knocked on our bullet rid...

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