The Kyiv Unedited Secret Editorial Board feels it incumbent upon ourselves to warningly reintroduce the “writer” who is called Saint Stephan – with this overly large frame (one can comfortably and guiltlessly call it a mutated hack job), immediately above this highly timely Notice, since that’s how it works around here. Always has, always will.
Unfortunately for us, we are obliged to take and publish the piece to Kyiv Unedited, whatever its demerits, since we still have this Stephan in our card files here as a contributing… “writer”… At least we know, according to our rules, that represented in this thing, for some reason called “Exposure”, are only facts, because fiction is for sissies. And we know, because we witnessed the whole thing, secretly, of course. Much as Mr. Stephan did (though, admittedly, a little differently), two days ahead of the events herein factually supposedly described. It is a little-known secret – which is why it is impossible NOT to know us as The KUSEB – that among the main requirements we have toward our contributors is that they possess foresight; and that, we are forced to concede, this guy has in abundance, albeit, as a result of wielding a tremendous advantage. Fair or unfair, it’s the reality.
For your further edification in this matter, we say, up in the first paragraph, “is called”, in reference to his name, rather than “goes by”, because we’ve found out that his name actually is, or was, or is, Saint Stephan, with “Saint” being his first name, and “Stephan”, the surname. Figure that. But, what, indeed, is in a name? By any other one, it would still be Saint Stephan. Perhaps there is a particle of actual, grudging admiration here. And if there is, so what?! And also, this statement of fact may actually not be true!!! So there’s that to consider, too.
Speaking of Sur, big or otherwise, we were under the now mistaken impression that this half-ghost, half-human male perished already, trying to escape Welsh Losser bio-replicas out in California, hightailing it toward the Pacific Cliffs, or whatever they’re called, with nowhere left to go but a sheer drop of, oh, probably thousands and thousands of feet, down, crashing on the rocks below.
Not that we would ever wish such a thing. But in any case, apparently, here he is, again, filing this “story” – so enjoy!