Night descended on the small village near an outpost of soldiers trained to mistake their children for Cossacks and shoot them on sight. Unfortunately every child in the village knew this and found ways to decieve the young lieutenants and brigadier generals of Peter's army. Many years later a man trained in the arts of ficticious healing and posing as a monk left the tiny village of Prokovskaia and went to the capital to heal a young boy. Later that young boy would end up in a well outside of Ekaterinburg right before the white army descended on its villages inside its kremlin. Outside another kremlin lie this beaten, poisoned, and bullet-ridden magician/monk healer and then thrown into the icy Neva. Christ sat on his chair. Jesus, as a little kid, maybe the age of an elementary school teenager revoked the charter of his school in an attempt to slay beasts and dragons. But at the time, neither he nor his brother realized that they too were magical/monk healers and possibly dragon-slaying ficticious healers.

Many a year has passed and unknowlingly a small town drug addict by the name of Cody got in a fight outside of his school walls where he reigned as king of his footsteps. On a whim he 'jacked another dude in the gullet' and watched as the 'other dude' lay on the ground trying to catch his breath in spasms and similar to a computer mouse moved his hand over the keys and ripped out a small chunk of 'change' from this young upstart. Just a few days ago he saw this Cody fellow standing on the street next to five men in workman's outfits chilling to an old school beat and loitering the shit out of this fine convenience mart/bazaar/homoegenous milk product. Oh boy! What a tremendous day it is today shouted Ted Hoben, a retired Vietnam vet. who was slightly retarded and working with Bill, Kane, and Chevro were all retired army vets and somehow managed to put on these workingman's outfits on the same day as if the fourth of july celebration required them to do this while eating bananas and apple pie.

You see, Cody was a true, bleeding heart Bohemian. I know what you are thinking. No, he didn't smoke 'weed' or 'pot' or 'grass'. For some reason Bohemia has this crazy stretch of land that confuses people into thinking that it is located somewhere in the Caribbean, but it is not. No, Sir Menchev was straight outta Bucharest! Damn straight and darn tootin'. Don't make a liar out of a sausage, you can't simmer a ham on four days rest and no bacon!!!!!!!!

Hey you! What the h...why....quit fuckin...with my cable...damnit!