skype is a myth, an ancient tale your parents would tell you to get you to go to bed without question, a legend of the grotesque and foul that seeps in and out Man's feeble filthy mind like an unwelcome unfriendly landlord but like all things we can only barely perceive of out of the corner of a tired eye or the prickle in a lousy ear there is something lying in wait just beyond the border of the natural and normal, something our ancestors tried to forget when the era was thought to be ours and not the age of monsters any longer on the bleakest day it is said skype will will itself into our realm's warm womb and let itself slither out with a sickening thud and squelch, and then, what blind men still believe in freedom and justice and beauty and love, will crumble with the vestiges of sanity clutched greedily in their sweaty hands pray now, and kneel, and cry and plead and want for DISCORD you fools
