The War has settled into a routine, with troops on both sides digging in for a prolonged siege. They lob spam at us, we lob postmaster-seeking missiles at them, the postmasters slide farther into their own navels and whistle innocently while the spammer slips them a fiver. I have dared to invoke these beings, and even now perform the rituals which tie me ever stronger to their network of conspiracy. Though I should fall before the enemy, I remain undaunted, a Vercingatorix before the oppressive phalanxes of Spammius Caesar.
Nothing is at last .