P R E V I O U S L Y I N
All Discordians must die.
The Ceremony of Knives has been and gone. Now we roll within The time of tides, decides Hara, Gods choices have risen to drown out those that don't see him.
She sits there waiting for the signs: The woman with rainbows in her hair; the ghost with the white Mohican. And there they are...there they step - two players from an impossible dream, they arrive at the desk in Hara’s mental home. Both moving along in the shoals of a passing that Hara can't help but feel. The Time of Tides.
‘Thank you!’ says Hara, ‘Thank you so much! You won’t be sorry!’
Bimpe chained to the radiator.