Prepare for decent.

Gear has been removed to ensure flaming wreckage. The heart is in the blender, and the ice chopping is soon to begin. The hammer is aloft and soon to drop. The creep of the trap door makes the hemp around the neck all that more itchy as I await the lever action death-assault. Cocked, Locked, and ready for the big fall. Strapped in and buckled down, and engaged in the full-throttle suck storm that will attempt to destroy me. But can I still distance myself from ground zero? Can I escape the blast radius? Only time can tell. The countdown is begun and I am incapable of aborting. Christ be with me, if you even fucking exist.