Hurtling Through The Cosmos At The Speed Of Light

I think I was trying to be all poetic or something, but it just reads weird and funny.

Hurtling through the cosmos at the speed of light. I wonder about the fate of time and is it chilled and served with ice? The comet currents and landslide debris not subject to the gravitational pull of the sunsets of an infinite pitch-black tableau beckon and call. Weapons of mass construction and torture cannot be defiled by random thoughts; only purity and clarity carry such covens of consideration on the wind. The gods play dice, but it’s not known as gambling because there are no free drinks. Their only other concern is judging the superlative curses said in vain on a small blue planet so far on the edge of insanity, it’s yet to even be named by the vainglorious ones. That’s where my check gets cashed. You’ve heard of chaos run amuck? I’m not that messy, in fact I like to think I’m very clean in my own wonderful way. So I’ve identified myself. I doubt it makes much difference to you.

But hey, the finale of the Real Gilligan's Island is tonight, so yeah!! Will the millionaires take advantage of the young and gullible Gilligan and Mary Ann or will the Skipper somehow manage to survive? My money is on the millionaires.