I’m going to be able to tell my kids something. Drunken off Dew, a tumor the side of a grapefruit lodged in my skull, eyes bulging. I’ll mumble at a howl, “I remember when Pixar made original movies! Good movies! Not fucking sequels! Now fetch me my Oculus Rift! And my meds! Daddy needs to go to the Black Sun and sword fight Hiro Protagonist.”

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