29.Nov.2002

this is what it feels like

--

you are invited

I am cordially displeased. While being cordially displeased, let it be known I will politely eviscerate you and kindly toy with your intestines, since they would make particularly luxurious tinsel for the Christmas Tree. Let it be known that while cordially displeased, I will graciously and thoughtfully feed your spleen to my rather adorable Jack Russell, and he will gleefully munch on the remnants of your stomach lining, as well.

When I am done making a mess of your insides, I will very benignly nail your heart to my front door so others will be warned of my cordial displeasure.

There is a distinct line of insanity separating thought and action. At this point, that line has bleared. It is my sworn duty as an upright citizen of the United States to make sure your tongue is boiled and seasoned and presented to your mother on a platinum platter. Your blood will be made into a wine your father would find superb.

As it is, I do, in fact, live to serve you.

--

time & machine