Network

These dreams are the strangest thing I've ever seen. In some, I'm alone in a corridor, surrounded in the coldest mists, guarding an ornate silver door. In others, I'm fighting alongside a man and a woman against terrible evil...

I wonder if they mean anything.

I was gonna just send this as a message to Queen, who I will add, looked like a total fool last weekend, in front of the ENTIRE guild of archers and assorted family and friends who bothered to turn up for something as ridiculous as watching a bunch of us prance around in tights and get our Robin Hood on, but Hell, I'm willing to fork out a lot more cash to further antagonize him, for the benefit of it being done in front of a much larger group of people, so let's coordinate.

Archery's a thinking man's game, and clearly, Oliver Queen isn't thinking anymore, so we'll resort to brutal out and out aggressive tactics, sharp shooting, and general leadership ability in the field. Full out paintball war. Me and my superior marksmanship and him and his rapidly fading Olympic Glory.

From now until, oh, let's say Labor Day, when he doesn't have the excuse of being under someone's desk, and hopefully has not been gnawed to death by the current crop of crabs he's giving new life to as we speak, we'll recruit, we'll train, and we're going to create our armies.

No recruitment tactic is too cheap and low, cheating, blackmail and other coercion methods are allowed, and, in fact, encouraged, and we'll have the rest of summer to get everything moving.

Now, I doubt the corporate free love hippie has ever handled a gun that didn't give out electric shocks before, so let's give him a good ten minutes headstart onto his portion of the field and call it good, am I right?

Details to be finalized, once I make sure that I can even get the paintball field for that time, or moved around as needed, but there's the basics, guys, and Queen. Winner takes...I'm not sure yet.

You ready to accept my non gentlemanly, low down, total lacking in honor challenge, Queen? Consider this a formal declaration, will you?

Have you ever noticed how loud it is in an empty house in the middle of the night? You expect the deadly absence of sound but the space is filled with noise instead. The soft humming of machines, water gurgling in the pipes behind the walls, the soft sighs of floorboards stretching, the quiet rustle of carpet fibres relaxing.

Funny how you never hear them during the day, as if they're all playing dead and only dare coming back to life when they won't disturb anyone. They're very considerate, the things in my house.

It's so sad. It's kind of cute.

Why exactly do my agents have the idea that there are things that they can hide from me?

Agent Coulson, did you really think I was going to let your BIRTHDAY go by without outting you?

Happy Birthday, Phil. Be ready when the SUV comes by.

I'm afraid I didn't get the Gawker job. Not really surprised, but it's a shame anyway. I really thought I had a chance.

I'm sure something better will come along though.

I know a lot of people have been having dreams and there's a part of me that's not entirely sure that mine aren't just as bad as some I've heard about, but I really wish I could find the best friend I've never had the people from my dreams. It can't be real, of course, but to imagine that I do even a fraction of those wonderful, horrible things...

Maybe I'm going mad.