...I was right. I wasn't alone.

You guys cannot imagine how scared I was when I slowly crept to the kitchen. I saw a pair of glowing eyes, and I was thoroughly convinced it was a screeling. With hook in hand, I turned on the lights with a snap, and revealed a RACCOON running away. I panicked, and grabbed my broom, and chased it all over the house, only to realize that my back screen door was ajar. Somehow, the little sneaky perpetrator managed to come in. I opened the screen door entirely in attempt to give it an exit. 

I then realized it was hiding under the dining room table, and I slowly went and started beating at it with my broom to scare it, and immediately after that I learned that, when pissed enough, raccoons fight back. The raccoon immediately started hissing and growling and started beating at my broom, and then ran out from under the table, right for me, hissing and growling. Of course, this got me to scream for my dear life and I jumped on the couch, jumping to and fro from different furniture, over and over, from coffee table, to futon, to couch, all the while attempting to beat at the volatile and rabid raccoon with my ever so handy broom. After a while, I saw that a can of Lysol spray was available in my reach, so I jumped for it, sprayed at the raccoon and proceeded to try and scare it with my broom, trying to scare it in the direction of the open doorway, and after a good six or seven minutes, he left. 

I think I would have preferred the screeling. Zedd, where are you when I need you. 

Pig Iron.

I’ve heard it said by many that you don’t become a blacksmith; instead you are born a blacksmith.

The knack for working metal seems to be as innate as an artist’s talent, a writer’s skill or a musician’s ear. It can be taught, yes, but a true master can only be forged from the right stock.

And I’ll tell you now – without the slightest hint of arrogance – that I am quite likely the greatest blacksmith who has ever lived.

Everything to which I turn my hand is flawless. Each piece of steel is wrought in crystalline perfection, the symmetry of the atomic structure uncanny, unnatural. I have forged blades for collectors, enthusiasts, the rich and the famous; each of them the newest pinnacle of my craft, and unmatched by any other blacksmith on this Earth.

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