An Ode to Tons Of Fun

[psycho_faery]

He is a torment, an eyesore, a drain, a pompous and arrogant phoney, a corpulent methane-producing wad of overextended sonority, he is a hypocrite of the worst sort, he is a sock best lost in the dryer, a well-spoken prosimian, a manipulator of hearts without a conscious, a beatless meat mass festering in a ribcage, a grandiose and overindulged child, a parasitic equation, a ringing in the night that makes a person want to grab The Skullsplitter and have at it, an invasive species consuming and regurgitating all in its path into a lesser reincarnation of its previous self, an etch-a-sketch that just can't be shaken out of existence, a self-proclaimed false deity, a prima donna, a scavenger of slightly less demented entities' carnage, he is The Blob, a greasy paper bag, the cause which effects vigilantes when justice is beyond common reach, a callous atheist who motivates others to stretch for metaphysics in in a black hole of hope that karma exists, a
cesspool, the scrubless onion stench, he is the unlikely demented result of a cushy life with no excuse or justification for actions, he is subhuman scum and his presence on the face of the earth is detriment to the well-being of humanity.

If he gets himself into some serious trouble and finds himself out of commission, well, the world would be a better place, and I couldn't help but smile a little.