That's just the thing, see. That's exactly what I'm talking about. You don't want to listen because you know that it's going to get big - bigger than you can even imagine. Like a million elephants smushed into a big, gray putty ball.
I don't even want to get into it. It's like talking to a wall - if walls could be lying, self-righteous asswipes. They can't. I like walls. You can lean on those things. Leaning on you is an invitation to prostration. That means I'd end up on the ground, this ain't about your ass, man.
Call the shots how you see them; everyone deserves a kernel of your wisdom wouldn't you say, Corporal?
I'm feeling sick inside. It's this spinning, whirling kind of sickness. It's like that ride at the carnival with the spider arms. Designed to make you puke, I reckon. Never did make sense to me. I'd rather shoot a clown in the face with a fancy water pistol.
There are so many bullies. So many bully pulpits. So many people confused when they don't really need to be. You may not see it. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But that's all I'm giving you. From now on, you get the surface. I have presented too many things I loved, only to have them shot down by petty insecurities disguised as opinion. Not that you're not entitled to them. I'm just saying you can keep 'em; I got bigger fish to fry.