Not one to give in to cabin fever. I want to go out, I go out.
Cept on a full moon of course.
That's a different kind of cabin fever, folks. You know, the kind that’s fuckin torture instead of mopey assed boredom.
When I'm like that, every goddamned instinct in me is to hunt. Kill. Find prey, shred the skin, gorge on the hot bloody meat, crunch on and
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