It's funny isn't it?
How in a book or a story or a Hollywood movie, the brash bastard punk anti-hero
cunt has got to have some fallibility. Some weaker side. Some critical flaw.
Some reason for the chicks to love him. Something to humanise.
Yet, if I'd ever
dared to have ever cared enough to have ever cried, you bastards would have had
me crucified.
Show some weakness if you dare and see what happens to your
friends. Watch them transfigure from smiling sweaty flesh pots to creatures of
horns and talons that clack, clack, clack over your bones.
Listen posthumously
to the explanation that a nail in the head is an ancient remedy for a feeble
mind. I'm telling these bastards nothing.
"Yeah, fine
thanks. And yourself?"
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