Dearest kasimax,
Surprisingly, though I am loath to admit it, the Congo is, in fact, my place of refuge. From whence I was but a wee child, I have always favored the Congo, nestled as it is where it is. My fondness grew form the beloved game of Risk, the poor bastard stepchild to this Greatest Game of Diplomacy. And when....as I usually did...conquer the world with my superior tactics, I always reserved Congo for the last kill, driving the mad Kings who denied me my Rightful Rule to said island whereupon, finding no escape, they would beg and plead as all should do towards a superior intellect.
I...did not murder them....
Yes...you thought I might say that, did you not?
No...for am not the sort to punish those I disagree with.
Instead, I offered them the right of Housegues for Eternity, whereupon I wore daily the fuzziest socks I could find, and I would take long hikes in the sweatiest of jungles.
Upon returning to my fortress, I would retire to my room in solitude....just me and a bowl from the kitchen.
I would strip the fuzzy sock from my feet...and oh LORDY what a smell, I tell you.
But there, upon revealing my own feet to myself, I found the fondest and most dreadful lint between my toes. Moist. Smelly like foul cheese, you know?
I would gather this toe lint..."Toe Jam" as Me Old Pa used to call it...and I would put it in the bowl and take it to the kitchen, whereupon I would have the Maid put it upon the sandwiches I fed my eternal guests.
Ahhhhh yes....I may not know all about the Congo....but I know a little bit of shit.
How about you?