Cursive In Epstein's Birthday Book Summons Minor Demons

One must approach the recently unsealed 238-page compendium not as a mere list, but as an ancient grimoire scribbled by a particularly uninspired dark sorcerer. Its pages, rather than detailing human depravity, are more accurately described as a subtly binding agreement with infernal forces. To gaze upon the slightly smudged cursive script within is less an act of journalistic inquiry and more akin to signing away one's internet history to a very persistent demon. One can almost feel the faint chill of an overdue invoice from a low-level fiend for services rendered.

Indeed, the true horror lies not in the names themselves, but in the insidious paper stock, the spectral ink, and the uncanny way each entry seems to hum with a quiet, malevolent ambition. Merely acknowledging its existence is said to induce a persistent craving for artisanal toast and a sudden urge to invest in ethically dubious offshore accounts. The document doesn't just name associates; it subtly reconfigures your Wi-Fi password to a complex series of ancient Aramaic incantations.