Blitzkrieg

I've been making my way stealthily back to my home fortress. Have been unable to contact Frik the Fundamentalist Farmer, or FFF as his close friends call him. So I don't have the luxury of being flown back home under the cover of darkness in a small plane. No matter. I'm what they call a Bush Baptist -- I am more at home in the jungles, deserts and hell holes of Africa than the darkest, blackest terrorist.

Anyway, just a few more days and I'll be over the border and back home with my loved ones, my fierce killer dogs, my Sudanese convert servants and my beloved paintballs and wide array of guns. I've really missed making my colourful mark on this world, but as you already know from previous blogs, I had no choice but to go underground, quite literally.

I finally rhymed Pete's Imprecatory Psalm #234 late last night while hiding out in a rat infested, flea bitten, African hut in the middle of nowhere (read "If I told you, I'd have to kill you" blog if you need a context for my vagueness). So that means as soon as I can get to a post office, I'm going to post the whole lot to Jack Chick. If anyone can do justice to them, he can. I'm hoping he will be willing to convert the lot to comic tract form so I can literally blitz my enemies with depictions of them being thrown headlong into the Lake of Fire. That should put the fire of God under their asses so they will at least pause before uttering the next blasphemous, untrue lie about yours truly and consider their eternal damnation if they continue.

Fight the good fight. The Lake of Fire awaits all reprobates and those who oppose Paintball Pete.