I think I'll keep that moniker as a trophy.

BoomerBalz. I like the way it rolls off your tongue.

Here. While you were deep in slumber. I took the time to write you a little love poem.

An ode to your valiant and ultimately fruitless attempt at logic.

It is called...

"My Chalice Runneth Over"

A bitter vintage, clear and cold, I catch within this cup of gold. Each salty drop a fallen pride, From those who broke against the tide.

I raise the chalice to the light, To toast the ending of their fight. No wine could ever taste as sweet, As liquid proof of their defeat.

The rim is stained with silent fear, Each shimmering and crystal tear. I drink their sorrow, deep and slow, And watch my own dominion grow.