What’s going at this very moment is me resisting the urge to start up an epic fictional biography of a fella called KLAUS KILTTI. The story would’ve been something along the lines of:

Our hero would’ve been born on 6291 in Zappat, Captured city of Samhain. He would have been a humble family man, and the worst shoemaker ever walked the earth. Our guy would’ve been a true paragon of virtue, known for his impeccable self control and mental clarity. Klaus’ best friend in the whole wide world would’ve been Winston Hiszig, forgetful city clerk and amateur boxer. Although the two buddies never officially worked together…

Yeah… But no! I’m limiting myself to write stories like that to one or maybe thirteen per year. If you write predominantly bullcrappery, nobody trusts you anymore when you write something meaningful and important.

So, you fill in the rest.

Oh, yeah there’s music too!