You're...you're not going to stop being this good, are you?

I keep waiting for you to fall off. Not because I want it to happen, but because it always does. Because it must. Because the world is a shallow plastic money trench where genius has to wear a short skirt.

But you don't. Somehow, you keep producing work of this quality with the algorithmic gun held to your temple. I don't know how. But I'm so, so glad you do.