It's no use. Clearly Mister Sh***r's evil miasma of infectious and debilitating smog has spread deep into Little Hawks tissues, infecting his brain and his spine both. He's not who he was -- not even human, in the normal sense. He's dead, Jim. Little Hawk has been taken, and in his once brilliant if spurious place, a foul gray slime from the depths of Boskone has taken over, the spittle from the drainpipe of Darth Vader's respirator, the scum on the bottom of the universe, the detritus of the Cosmos' lowest waste elimination process... and that is really too bad, because I was holding out hope for that boy to finally become something.

Just wait, Bill... your turn will come.


A