THEY KNOW I’M COMING. TRY AS THEY MIGHT, WHEN THE FULL MOON HITS I EMERGE FROM THE SEWERS, CAKED IN ICHOR AND FURY. THE WORKERS -- NAY, DEFENDERS -- OF THE LOCAL WANNA IGUANA BARRICADE THE DOORS, SOME OF THEM ARE PANICKING. THEIR ATTEMPT WAS IN VEIN, HOWEVER, AND I BREAK MY WAY IN. I TAKE THE BUCKETS OF SALSA AND I DUMP THEM ON MY FLESH, SCREAMING, ALWAYS SCREAMING, SCREAMING AND EATING THE SALSA UNTIL THEY KICK ME OUT. THEY’LL NEVER KNOW MY NEED FOR SALSA. SALSA IS ME. I NEED THE SALSA. I AM THE SALSA OUROBOROS. FOREVER. 100 YEARS. SALSA.