In response to this daily prompt: “You, Robot.” No idea how old this prompt is, I was doing randoms…


If I could have a robot to take over any task that I despise, which one would I choose?


Well, I don’t particularly relish cleaning out the cars or mowing the lawn, but I get paid for that so it’s fine.

There are only a few other chores I can think of: drying dishes, cleaning bathroom, weeding, vacuuming.

Dishes, bathroom, and weeding are monotonous but can pepped up by listening to music or watching TV shows on a mobile device at the same time or something, so in the end they’re just necessary evils.

But vacuuming.


If there was an option to pause the universe, remove the option for doing something and eliminate. the need to do it in the first place, I would stop everything and get that outta here ASAP.

No pun intended, vacuuming sucks. It is the most boring, tedious, horrible task one can do, and it requires some measure of quality control and brain usage. See, I hate tedious things, but I don’t mind tedious things that I can not pay attention to and think about stuff that doesn’t kill my brain cells. Vacuuming is one of those yucky tasks that requires thought process to accomplish, so my brain is chained to my body, and my body is chained to the tortuous task of vacuuming.

But what is it that makes vacuuming so different from dish drying or weed pulling, you ask? Well, you can listen to music while you do those tasks. But not vacuuming. No, that would be too easy. The constant high pitched VROOOOOOM of the vacuum drowns out everything and one finds oneself trying to find the key in which the vacuuming cleaner hums in an attempt to not go insane listening to it. Actually, that might just be me, but hey.

I hate this chore so much that I always opt for the broom if it’s an option. And I despise carpets. In a practical sense they’re lovely and soft but the fact that they must be vacuumed irks me.

So yeah. I’d get me a robot who vacuums. If possible, a robot who SILENTLY vacuums would be absolutely lovely.


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Curly Hair: Results So Far

So, if you remember the post I made on curly hair a couple three days ago, you know I’ve been working to make my curly hair…..curly. Because I’ve been treating it like straight hair, it hasn’t really been curly. It’s just been a poof. A big, ugly, frizzy poof.

But I just got back from the hairdressers, and I got some long layers, and she diffused it, and my 3A curls. Look. Awesome.

My bangs make my facial expression on the picture look weird, lol, but there’s nothing I can really do about that. I’m growing them out and right now they’re in the awkward stage of too long to wear down and too short to pin up.

Anyway, I think all this effort has been worth it!

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Thank You Followers!

To everyone who’s following my blog: Thank you!

I’m not sure what sort of invaluable wisdom and incredible knowledge you expect me to impart, but I hope whatever I do produce meets your expectations.

There’s over 40 of you now- 40! I never expected that when I made this blog! I hope we reach 50 one of these days. :)

heart the first

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In response to this old daily prompt.

I hate it when people ask me, “what’s your favorite _____ ?”

I don’t really have favorites.

I mean, I do have a few. My favorite drink? Iced tea, no sugar or lemon (ick). Favorite guitar? Framus AK74. Favorite month? July. Number? 14. Style of music? Classic rock.

But in the long run? Nope, not really. See, here’s the thing: In the modern world, this one where we have so many of everything to choose from and so many good options for… well, pretty much anything, it’s hard to look at something and go, “Okay, that one thing is the best thing ever. We’ll pick it.”

Because, hey, what about the other ten equally awesome things that are coming along right behind that one? Are they any less worthy? Are they any less good? Are they somehow paling in comparison to their surprisingly similar counterparts?

Often times, for me at least, the answer is no, which leads one of two conclusions: Either there’s lots of things, which are good for different reasons, or I’m just too nice to play favorites. Both of these are viable answers.

I am a little too nice to play favorites. I usually end up feeling at though I’m, pardon my my French, screwing over the equally awesome things I didn’t pick as #1 in such a situation. But that’s not all of it. I actually do think there’s a lot of different awesome things, which are awesome for a lot of different reasons.

For example, let’s take the question: “What’s your favorite band?” What runs through my head when someone asks that:

Well, I’ve always loved Triumph, and Rik Emmett IS kinda sorta my guitar hero, but…. I also love Genesis about as much, and Phil Collins is one of the best drummers EVER. But Gil Moore of Triumph is ALSO a really good drummer. But there’s way more guitar work in Triumph’s stuff, and Genesis is more poppy and keys- but there’s not really any keys in Triumph stuff either! Ugh. Okay, okay, we’ll go with Triumph AND Genesis. Equally. But wait- what about all the other awesome bands and stuff? I also love Styx and Journey and REO Speedwagon, but right now I’m hooked on listening to Games People Play by the Alan Parson’s Project, but they’re not my favorite band. That’s not really my favorite song either. No, we’ll stick to Triumph and Genesis. But… what about Shooting Star?….. Hmm……

See what I mean? There’s just so much stuff out there that’s equally awesome for different reasons. A lot of times it’s just not possible to pick only one. For example, Operating systems. People freak out over OS wars ALL THE TIME. I mean, come on. Must they argue about something I can solve in about five minutes? Observe:

  • iOS: Made by Apple; which at the core is a good company with it’s share of lovers and haters. All hardware/software is identical, no matter the phone, with the exception of the iPhone 6 or 6+ size difference. Very much boxed in, which is good or bad depending on who you are. Expensive off contract (not that I’ve never seen worse) but often very very cheap ON contract (99 cents or free). Biggest app store/ecosystem, require iTunes, which can be a con if you don’t appreciate such software, but most do. Special charging ports, and iPhones get all the cool accessories. Seriously. All of them.
  • Android: Made by Google; which at the core is a good company, with its’ share of lovers and haters. All phones are different; all software is different, you can find pretty much anything you want. These phones are completely customizable, they can be made to do virtually anything. Universal charging ports, and a few of the good accessories if it’s a flagship phone model. Every company makes one just about, all price levels- they go from dirt cheap to crazy expensive. Definitely NOT boxed in at ALL.
  • Windows Phone: Made by Microsoft; which at the core is a good company with it’s share of lovers and haters. All software is the same, but hardware varies between hardware back, home, and search buttons, and the on screen versions; some of them have dedicated camera buttons and some don’t. Each of the Nokia Lumia models has a different kind of hardware but the same overarching theme; no one else really makes windows phones except HTC, and theirs, I hear, has lovely hardware which is not quite up to the build standards of Nokia. Universal charging ports, range from el-cheapo to holy-crap-that’s-more-than-my-rent, and somewhere in the middle ground of its’ older siblings: Not entirely boxed in, but definitely has a mostly invisible electric fence keeping you from straying very far. Smallest app store, though that’s changing, and smallest demographic. These phones NEVER EVER get cool accessories. Seriously. Never.

See how easy that was? W’ve just established the fact that all these OSes are equally nice depending on who you are, and just because it doesn;t work for you personally doesn’t make it a bad OS, so now these are all equal. We can agree that arguments about which one is the universal best, the favorite, if you will, are pointless since they’re all best at some things and worst at others.

Better is relative, everything is good for something, and if nothing else, at least you now know I don’t pick favorite blogs, lol.

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It’s been awhile

I guess you know that it’s a new theme around here…. right? Well, I changed the theme one day on my tablet because we’d had the old one for a very long time. I was about to make a post, but then I remembered how unintelligent it is for someone like me to try to write something like that on a virtual keyboard, lol, and intended to do it later on my laptop. Which promptly died, lol. Anyway, I have a new laptop now, and I’d like to review that later by the way, but I think I’m back now. I think. :)

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Curly Hair

My dad has curly hair.

He didn’t always though, I’ve seen his “little boy” pictures, lol, and it’s straight as a stick. But now, it’s curly.

And you know something? I’v seen MY little girl pictures too, and I appear to have straight hair. BUT.

NOW, it’s curly.

I don’t know why I never considered, before this week, that I might have curly hair. I guess it’s because it’s never looked like it was curly. It was just a… a… poof. A big, ugly, poof, and I hated it. Still hate it, actually, because I haven’t gotten away from it yet, but by George, I’m going to!

See, curly hair cannot be cared for like straight hair. If you do that, you will damage it, and at some point it will not have the wherewithal to curl at all. But, since it’s intrinsically curly, you’ll still have a healthy dose of frizz all over the place (which I’ve always had). And thanks to trying to treat it as if it was straight, you get tons of broken ends too. And did I mention the frizz?

I was watching videos on this lovely girl’s channel and just sorta realized it all at once: I’ve had curly hair for heaven knows how long and had no idea because it’s too screwed up to curl. This, of course, needs to be remedied. I’ve been looking for a quick easy way to get nice looking hair- having naturally curly hair is the obvious solution, right? :p

So what do I have to do to fix this? Well, first I need to stop using sulfates or silicone on my hair. Basically, sulfates are REALLY harsh soaps also in hand soap, dish-washing liquid, laundry detergent, etc. It’s okay for straight hair, but it removes a natural oil called Sebum produced by your hair, which is something curly hair NEEDS. Silicones are in pretty much every other hair product including conditioners, sprays, gels, etc, and are not water soluble- they cannot be removed with water. Only with- you guessed it- sulfates. And since we can’t use sulfates, it would build up in your hair and make it greasy and heavy. Who wants that? No one, not me anyway, so I’ll be shopping for sulfate and silicone free stuff tomorrow.

Another thing I just learned: One does NOT EVER brush curly hair dry. Only when in the shower and it’s good and wet, because curls are formed by clumps of like hairs. When you use a brush on them, they are separated individually, and laying all on top of one another they create… you guessed it… FRIZZ. Crazy frizz. So yeah, curly hair, if properly cared for, doesn’t get tangly like straight hair does, so you don’t NEED to brush it every day. I know I know, that sounds odd but… it’s true.

When you do brush it in the shower it’s best to use a shower comb, not a brush, since they have very wide teeth. Very frizz lessening.

You should either have a satiny pillow case or hat or both, for at night, and if it’s a pillow case, putting your hair up on top of your head by flipping it upside down like you’re going to do a pony tail and not pulling through all the way so it’s a big bubble keeps your curls from getting smushed. Satin and it’s equally smooth counterparts are smoother than cotton, so rubbing against it doesn’t cause broken ends or frizz.

Moisture! Curly hair is VERY dry, so good moisture- weekly deep conditions, and daily leave in conditioner. Many use a natural, pure oil like Coconut oil to seal in the moisture (since oil and water don’t mix, it seals in the water).

Scrunch when wet! Flip all your hair over one shoulder and put you hand under your curls. Cup you hand under your hair and push it to the top, scrunch it really hard (you should hear a squishy sound) and let it go. Repeat like a mad person, then flip over the over shoulder, repeat, flip your head upside down, repeat, and do it all again. This helps your curls to form.

And finally, heat styling needs to be cut to a minimum. That means no straightening! And when blow-drying, to it on a cool low setting with a good diffuser.

That sounds like a lot of work doesn’t it? Well, it is, but I’m willing to try it if it gives me something to love about my hair!

I suspect my hair will eventually “heal” to look something like the one on the left, 3A:

Type 3 Hair

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Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas everyone!

My favorite Christmas song….


Tell Me Lies, Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

I saw this prompt in the email inbox this morning and I knew that even if I had to MAKE time, I needed to write something about it. Even if it was short! (Oh man, I just do way too much STUFF. I never have time to do all the stuff I plan on doing, lol).

Inspired by this prompt

Lying IS wrong. There’s no doubt about that. You just shouldn’t do it. It’s too hard to remember, it’s too easy to get caught, and it’s too hard to regain trust.

But there’s a fine line between tact and lying, and I try to stay on the south side of it. It’s the classic case of the girlfriend asking the boyfriend, “Does this make me look fat?” On the one hand, if he says, “Yes. Yes, it does,” – assuming that’s the truth- she’ll be insulted. If he says no, he’s lying, but she won’t be insulted. Which way is better?

If the boyfriend isn’t bothered by how she looks in the outfit of question, then he could just say, “I think it looks fine,” and not be lying- Because he does think it looks fine. That is not a lie, and she is not insulted.

When someone causes some slight to you and they apologize, and you say, “Oh, it’s fine,” and really it isn’t- because they ran into you in a crowded street and you were already late for work and now you’re much more than fashionably late and you’ll probably have it on your record which was spotless until now and that includes all ten years of working there [*deep breath*] – that is a lie. But you don’t want to say something like, “Thanks a lot!” or “Way to ruin my month, lady!”. At least, you shouldn’t want to say something like that.

But you really aren’t mad at THEM. You’re mad that they ran into you. So instead of saying IT’s fine- when IT isn’t- you say, “YOU’RE fine,” because they themselves are fine, and then it’s not a lie. It’s not all the truth, but it’s not a lie either.

Sometimes, you just have to remember to withhold some of the information. You don’t say something that isn’t true, and if you are asked… well, of course, then you’d have to say it. But tact is valuable, and so is truth. That’s a tricky balance.

Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies

Tell me, tell me lies

Oh no no, you can’t disguise

No you can’t disguise

Tell me tell, me lies

~Sweet Little Lies, by Fleetwood Mac

Random Thought #10

You might recall a post I did a while back, about my favorite movie, The Driver?

You might also recall my mentioning that one of my favorite TV shows is The Mentalist.

Well, just now, I was looking at screen shots, and I realized something. Look at this shot from The Driver:

The Driver & The Player

On the left, is The Driver. Curly blond hair, suit jacket with a dress shirt whose top button is undone and is lacking a tie. On the right, is The Player. Brown hair, wavy at the bottom, wearing a blouse and a blazer over it.

Now look at this shot from The Mentalist (I was hard pressed to find one with them standing on the same sides, so work with me here lol).

Jane & Lisbon

On the right, is Patrick Jane. Three-piece suit, but the top shirt button is undone and no tie, and blond curly hair. On the left, is Teresa Lisbon. Long brown hair, wavy at the ends, blouse with a blazer over it.

Very interesting indeed, right?

….Yeah. That’s what I thought. :p

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All The Way

It’s been awhile, I know. School, and dance, and music, and writing, and reading, and life. It’s all gotten in the way. However, I’m still around, and I’m still wanting to blog even if I don’t really have time.

I was scrolling through all the Daily Prompts I’ve missed when I saw this one, and I couldn’t resist. I also turned this in as an essay for school, which is why I had time to do it.

Daily Prompt for Sept. 8th, 2014: You’re sitting at a café when a stranger approaches you. This person asks what your name is, and, for some reason, you reply. The stranger nods, “I’ve been looking for you.” What happens next?

I sat back in the padded little cafe chair and eyed the stranger carefully. I’d definitely never seen him before, and this, of course, made me nervous. “I don’t, um, believe I know you?” I said it like a question. It was a question, really. If I didn’t know him and he knew me, I had obviously missed something.
He gestured to the chair across from me at the two-seater cafe table. “May I?”
I glanced around, hopefully not making it very obvious what I was doing. There were people everywhere. If he was going to try something, I’d be able to get the attention of several patrons, so I didn’t figure there was anything to worry about. Other than the fact that I was struggling to appear calm, of course. This was the twenty-first century. Stuff like this always happens on the crime shows before the victim is killed. Oh, boy, let’s kill that line of thought, shall we, Cass? That’d be great.
“Of course,” I said, in what I hoped was a gracious manner.
He smiled and sat down. “Are you finished with your meal?”
I glanced at the spot where my empty plates had been stacked, right before the waitress took them away. “Yes, I’m just waiting for my check,” I said.
“Good!” he exclaimed, as though this was some kind if grand development. Oh yeah, I’d definitely missed something.
“Uh, so, to what do I owe this pleasure?” I really needed to work on my delivery of “gracious sounding lines ladies use”. I filed that information away for later.
“All in due time, my dear,” said the stranger. At this moment, the waitress came over with the check. “Ah, sweetheart, would you get me a cup of coffee? And whatever the lady here would like. I’ll be paying her check,” he offered her a disarming smile.
The waitress blushed and glanced away, before nodding and tucking the check into her apron. “Of course sir,” she said. She glanced to me. “What can I get for you?”
I cut my eyes between the stranger and the waitress. I couldn’t decide whether I should tell him I already had the check covered, tell him I was in a hurry, tell him I didn’t want anything else, or just roll with it. On the one hand, free things usually come with strings attached. On the other hand, this really wasn’t the time to be hashing out the financial aspects of his motives.
I ordered a chocolate milkshake. When in Rome, y’know?
“So,” I said, offering the man a smile, “what can I do for you?” Yes, much better delivery, a pointless voice praised in my head.
“You can be patient until our orders come,” he said. And then, he proceeded to make small talk about the weather and the crops this year, and the stock market and the sad state of the panda population and heaven knows what else, and just when I felt I was about to burst, our orders showed up.
He smiled charmingly at the waitress and got her to blush again, and then he turned his attention to me. He smiled at me as I took a sip of my milkshake.
“I’m sure you’re very curious about all this,” he said.
I just managed to keep my eyes from rolling themselves. Understatement of the frazzling year. “A bit, yes,” I agreed sedately. Oh, that is rich, the pointless voice in my head chuckled.
“Well, I won’t keep you in suspense any longer,” the man said. “My name is Johnny Larson. My friend Elvis Wesley and I have been searching for you.”
I stared at him for a minute, temporarily forgetting that it takes two to tango and I wouldn’t learn any more information if I sat there like a ninnie and gawked.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
I blinked and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry, did I hear that right? Johnny Larson and Elvis Wesley?”
The man chuckled. “We’re from the League of Imposters. We pose as celebrities for a living.”
I nodded slowly. “I see,” I said, even though I really didn’t see at all.
“You probably don’t think I look much like Mr. Carson.”
I shook my head. “No, I must admit, I don’t,” I said.
He chuckled again. “Well, you will. It takes the right clothes and make up. And I have to be in character.”
I nodded silently again.
“We’re here to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
I offered him a tentative smile around my milkshake. “Really,” was all I could think to say. “Who’s ‘we’?
He gestured to a table in the corner. A man who could’ve looked like Elvis, if he was older, skinnier, had a different hairstyle and clothes, and wasn’t texting on his iPhone, waved to me with a goonish grin.
I waved politely back with a smile and turned back to my personal stranger. “What kind of opportunity?”
The man smiled and reached inside his suit jacket. “This is a file you should look at,” he said, drawing out a folder and placing it on the table in front of me.
I opened it, and glanced it over. I saw a picture of a woman with brown hair and eyes, who looked much older than me. Under her picture was the name Laura Elena Harring. Beneath that, several stats.
Born: March 3rd, 1964
Age: 50
I didn’t get any further than that before the man said, “We’ve been searching for her look alike, and I believe we’ve found it in you, Madam.”
I looked up, an incredulous expression on my face that I couldn’t hide. “Me?” I squeaked. “This woman was born in 1964! She’s the same age as my father and I don’t look anything like her!”
The man smiled in a bored fashion, as if he already knew I would say all that. “You can look like her, in a little while. You’ll need to be at least thirty-five before we can begin your impersonations, but you can begin training now.”
I glanced at the sheet again. “This woman is still alive.”
He shrugged. “She won’t always be. If things follow the natural cycle, you’ll outlive her.”
I blinked. How delightful. “Uh, yes. I fail to understand where this is going.”
He sighed. “Madam, please. You will make a million dollars a year if you join this program.” He leaned forward across the table. “You are special. You may be trained to be like this woman. You will be able to have anything you want, whenever you want. You will live a life of luxury. You’ll never have to debase yourself by engaging in menial labor again. All you have to do,” he said as he slid a paper and pen across the table, “is sign this and join the League.”
I stifled a chuckle. Where did they find this guy? “‘Debase myself by-”
“A lady does not debase herself by engaging in menial labor,” he interrupted. “And you certainly are a lady- aren’t you, madam?”
I stared at him for a moment, deciding not to justify that question with a response. “What would this… umm, entail?”
He sat back and grinned at me. “You’ll live in a mansion all to yourself. Anything you want, you’ll have at a moment’s notice. Servants and maids will be available on call. You’ll go to parties and have nice clothes and fancy foods. You can have everything you’ve ever dreamed of owning.” He smiled a little shark like. “A ‘64 Ford Fairlane Thunderbolt….. or a Framus AK74 guitar… anything.”
I wondered how he knew what was on the top of my “List of things I want but will never be able to have”. Then again, this guy was pretty odd, so it shouldn’t have surprised me.
“Uh, wow. That all sounds very nice, but…” I thought over my life currently. I worked for minimum wage, rented a bungalow in a small town, drove a VW Beetle that was worse for the wear but driveable. I played a cheap rookie Dean guitar and ate a lot of Ramen noodles.
But it was my life. And I’d made it all by myself, without anyone’s help. I was independant. And I was me.
And here sat a stranger that made me nervous, who apparently knew everything about me, heaven knew how, who was asking me if I wanted to be rich and famous by pretending to be someone else. By giving my freedom to people who would pay me and wait on me and treat me like glass.
Here was the only chance I would ever have to have any of the things I dared allow myself to dream of once in a blue moon.
“Power and glory and fortune and fame
There must be a price you must pay
Where do you go when you know that you’ve gone all the way?”
But I liked my independence, my VW and my bungalow. I never did care much for the name on the tag as long as it looked nice and fit me, and Ramen noodles were just fine with cheese on them. And cheese was pretty cheap.
Power and glory and fortune and fame weren’t worth the price…. not this time, anyway.
I slowly shook my head. “No. No, I’m sorry, Mr. Larson, but I think I’m happy with my life. I don’t believe I can help you.” I slid the papers back across the table.
He stared at them a moment and then looked up at me. “Are you sure, madam? This opportunity will never present itself again.”
I smiled confidently. “I’m sure, sir.”
He sighed and stood up, gathering his papers. “As you wish, my dear.” He said. He nodded to Elvis Wesley, who waved again and headed for the door. Johnny Larson paid my check, as he’d promised, and then turned back to me. He pulled my chair out and offered me a hand. I could obviously stand up on my own, but he was trying to be chivalrous so I accepted it.
He walked me to my car, and I turned to him with a smile when we reached it. He even opened the door for me. I got in, he closed the door, and I rolled down the window. He smiled down at me and said, one last time, “Are you certain, madam?”
I laughed a little and said, “I’m certain, Mr. Larson. Thank you for offering, but the answer is no.”
He touched two fingers to the brim of his fedora. I nodded back to him, still smiling, and he turned and walked away. A limo with a bored looking chauffeur at the wheel pulled up, and another man got out to open the door for the strange Johnny Larson, who climbed in and was spirited away by his staff.
I was about to put my VW in gear and head back to work before my lunch break was over, when my phone rang. I answered it.
“Hello, Miss Cassidy.”
Ah, Grandma was calling.
“Yes?” I said.
“We have a question for you.”
“Oh, really,” I said.
“We can’t find Grandpa’s orange drill, and we’ve looked everyplace. You don’t know where it is, do you?”
I smiled to myself, and even as I rattled off an automatic list of the most likely places to lose a big orange Black and Decker drill in Grandpa and Grandma’s house or pole barn, I thought to myself, This is definitely the life I’d like to keep, Mr. Larson. You’ve no idea what you’re missing.

Lyrics from All The Way by Triumph.

If you understand to what TV Show I refer with the “[blank] does not debase xerself by engaging in menial labor” quote, then I applaud you because you have exquisite taste. ‘Xer’ is a gender neutral term to replace him or her so I don’t give you a hint, by the way.

I hope you liked it! :)
You’ve no idea how often Grandma calls me and says “We have a question for you” and then asks me if I know where [thing] is. I have developed automatic answers my now- Say where I last saw the thing, and list the most likely places to lose it, and wish them good luck. It’s very familiar and made for the perfect “life-setter” to stick in this story.

Here’s the song that comes from:


Where there’s a will, there’s a way
Every dog will have his day
Those who wait are only wastin’ time

Pray for wisdom – dig for gold
Can’t buy freedom by selling your soul
You gotta be willin’ to give them a piece of your mind

Let a clearer conscience lead you
Don’t let anyone deceive you
When your heart cries out you must obey

Take it all the way, we can make it
All the way, we can take it
All the way, come tomorrow, come what may

Right or wrong? You can’t decide
But the loser pays and the strong survive
So take your shot, give it all you can

You better watch out, you better look around
’cause what goes up is gonna come down
Everybody lives by the law of supply and demand

Once you’ve set a course don’t change it
Luck will come to those who chase it
Don’t let anything get in your way


Power and glory and fortune and fame
There must be a price you must pay
Where do you go when you know that you’ve gone all the way
All the way

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