voila, my birthday remembered by a commodius vicus of recirculation- here i am the 17'th son of a 17'th son, a vaguely vivacious conundrum of nature, conjured out of spilt pixie dust i am an absconded regurgitation of a demented demiurge, i am the lighter of fireworks, the alchemist of mayhem bent on searching to destroy... gods tremble when they hear my footsteps, because they fear the puller of chairs, the tier of gordian knots, the merry prankster of deconstruction
so remember me, the day i was conjured up, for i can think of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot...
