So an old lady has died and a bunch of infantile nut-jobs declare they’ll dance on her grave. Any chance the old lady elected for a burial at sea? No? Damn shame.
There are others who’ve slithered out from dark, cold damp places, hissing at the light, and want to organize street parties chanting, ‘The wicked witch is dead’. Very sad little things with whom I beg to differ on the ‘dead’ word.
Caution; mute your sound.
The wicked witch is dead? Not so. The witch, it seems, is very much alive and on view here.
Will that frighten the horses or wot? But let’s be fair, credit where credit’s due an’ all, you’ve gotta admit that’s a brilliantly cleaver, exceptionally scary ranty rubber Halloween mask she’s wearing.... Pardon? Come on, you’re kidding. That’s not a mask? Get out o’ here! Really? It’s not? Oh dear. Well, I rest my case.
Quote; Catherynne M. Valente.
“Never put your faith in a Prince. When you require a miracle, trust in a Witch.”
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