That, dear readers, is a line from a poem titled, "Freddy The Rat Perishes". I did not write it. It was found by my best friend in high school, Becky, and I. It was in a paperback book of "modern" poetry which, when I was home for Christmas, I was delighted to find I still had.
Anyway that is neither here nor there. I am in a hateful mood and want to be as mean as I can right now. I am filled with spite. Pure, venemous bile. It's going to backfire, mark my words.
I should be in a great mood, I had a great show. Even better than last week. I kicked ass. But as I am a misanthropic malcontent, I can only focus on how malicious I am. I am a peevish, sullen toad right now.