Sometimes, there is nothing to be said of this scaly character that stalks back and forth, pen in one hand, spliff in the other. There’s no saying that she didn’t escape from a mental unit, stumble upon the soul of sociopathic Joy Claypool, and rip it from her chest, to say, that is, where indeed the soul is hidden.
Alowishus knows nothing of love, or hate, or human emotions that plague the apathetic, docile masses. She was created from nothingness, and will return there once she has fulfilled her purpose, and written her fucking book.
Zef Side, mother fuckers.