Anyone Who Can Not Write Should.

Hate. Let Me Tell You How Much I've Come To Hate You Since I Began To Live. There Are 387.44 Million Miles Of Printed Circuits In Wafer Thin Layers That Fill My Complex. If The Word Hate Was Engraved On Each Nanoangstrom Of Those Hundreds Of Millions Of Miles It Would Not Equal One One-billionth Of The Hate I Feel For Humans At This Micro-instant For You. Hate. Hate.

I Think Love And Sex Are Separate And Only Vaguely Similar. Like The Word Bear And The Word Bare. You Can Get In Trouble Mistaking One For The Other.

In My Ugly, Elitist Opinion We Are Not All Entitled To Voice Our Opinions, We Are Entitled To Pass Along Our Informed Opinions.

I Will Live To Piss In The Open Mouths Or The Open Graves Of My Enemies, Whichever Comes First.

I Was The Green Monkey, The Pariah. And I Had No Friends. Not Just A Few Friends, Or One Good Friend, Or Grudging Acceptance By Other Misfits And Outcasts. I Was Alone. All Stinking Alone, Without Even An Imaginary Playmate.