Tort is the dark side of the force, the glue that binds the borg, the object of desire for the morlocks.
Tort has been the ruination of many young men who began their quest with lofty ideals before being sucked into the vortex of faux turtle shell set against an equaly false depection of our life giving sun. If you have yet to dream of flats, there is hope still for your salvation so run, run like the wind. The direction matters not, so long as it be away from that dark bottomless hole set with a cruel steel jawed trap baited with tort at it's cold, bloodless center. Know this above all other things. Once you become one with the darkness that is tort there is no escape; save the sweet bliss of death, which you will gladly welcome.
Tort has been the ruination of many young men who began their quest with lofty ideals before being sucked into the vortex of faux turtle shell set against an equaly false depection of our life giving sun. If you have yet to dream of flats, there is hope still for your salvation so run, run like the wind. The direction matters not, so long as it be away from that dark bottomless hole set with a cruel steel jawed trap baited with tort at it's cold, bloodless center. Know this above all other things. Once you become one with the darkness that is tort there is no escape; save the sweet bliss of death, which you will gladly welcome.
