26/01/2026
The war has restarted.
The Mogadishu dust tasted of yeast and holy war as we, the chosen of the Papa, dug our heels into the feathered flanks of our steeds, Pepperoni and his kin, charging through a hailstorm of inferior cardboard and weak sauce.
We moved as a single, garlic-infused organism, our ostriches’ talons clicking a rhythm of doom against the sun-baked earth while we launched high-velocity supremes that cut through the Domino’s front lines like cheesy, spinning boomerangs.
The war goes on, Umbale and the boys will be victorious once more.
