I'M NOT A PAINTER, but the odd brush stroke. Releasing a hundred thousand surly hits (altogether only about 25 grams, mind you!) into Anaheim and environs via Brotherhood heavies.
Men run ragged and tear out hair, decrying villainy and beating the earth for villains. I watch in wonderment as again the sands shift on our little elegant mandala. Better to be powerless, and scorn to change my state with kings.