Strength through purity, purity through faith.

"Þe knyȝt mad ay god chere,

And sayde, 'Quat schuld I wonde?

Of destinés derf and dere

What may mon do bot fonde?'"* 

I have a headache. Poop.

*mediocre translation:

The knight made a good cheer,

And said, ' What should I do?

Whether destiny be foul or fair,

What may man do but dare?' "

2013-04-29 (switching to ISO standard date)

*/
A friend commented:

As much as I enjoyed this one, it makes no mention of poop quality.

And he's absolutely right. Today's victory was swift; a battle against a much smaller foe. Yet, when the corpse was felled, little mark was made. Swift, clean, glorious. We can only hope this luck extends to the greater struggles ahead.

*/