Day 100. I've forgotten what football feels like. It's been many moons since I've tasted victory upon my lips. I've grown quite feeble and I'm not sure how much longer I can hold on. The darkness is surrounding us all. In my cave I've tried to keep track of the days, but as my mind slips away and madness takes its place, I know the concept of time has no more meaning to me than a bucket of shells would to a ship lost at sea. Some days I wonder how it all came to this. Other days it feels like none of this really existed in the first place. Maybe I'm not real. Maybe I am. It's not for me to decide, and that gives me some solace as the days sim by. The musings of a lunatic is home to me: is air raid more pass the only scheme for a lost soul such as I? "No", the other voice says, sounding vaguely like the dying breath of my old friend Wiki. But maybe it's just the wind. Tell my croots I love them.