...has come to pass, and beyond its zenith has withered as all things so whimsical and transient must.
Kool Aid Man surveys the wasteland he has created, and upon reflection, finds not the rivers of rejuvenating fruity blood he once envisioned in his grand utopia of sunshine and rainbows, but rather a stagnant putrid excess of corn syrup and rotten lulz. What has Kool Aid Man done, but drown the region in his sickly sweet nectar? What he saw as life, as the vigorous heartbeat of the region, was but the forced pumping of artificial sanguinity into unwilling veins. Taijitu's pulse, stifled by a malignant death-instinct veiled in empty joviality. Kool Aid Man thus sees it prudent to grant to the good citizens of Taijitu (and at heart, he knows that they must be - the feeble but precious energy of optimism is not entirely stifled by frigid glass of his pitcher-soul) a reprieve from the indundation of fruitless (yet so fruity) yelling, of the overwhelming personality that crushes all else. Let the region blossom, then, as Kool Aid Man vanishes once again to the annals of Imaginationland - Let the region recover from its captivity in proverbial dialysis. Let the jaded tastebuds of the region once again know the sweet complexity of life beyond the tantalizing but ever so fleeting liquid lulz of Kool Aid Man.
Oh yeah.
