For The Serious Artist Does Not Satisfy

Well, Well, Well, Well. If It Isn't Fat, Stinking Billygoat Billy-boy In Poison. How Art Thou, Thou Globby Bottle Of Cheap, Stinking Chip-oil? Come And Get One In The Yarbles, If You Have Any Yarbles, You Eunuch Jelly Thou.

We Are Supposed To Be The Children Of Seth; But Seth Is Too Much Of An Effete Nonentity To Deserve Ancestral Regard. No, We Are The Sons Of Cain, And With Violence Can Be Associated The Attacks On Sound, Stone, Wood And Metal That Produced Civilization.

If You Expect The Worst From A Person, You Can't Ever Be Disappointed... The Pessimist Takes A Sort Of Gloomy Pleasure In Observing The Depths To Which Human Behaviour Can Sink. The More Sin He Sees, The More His Belief In Original Sin Is Confirmed. Everyone Likes To Have His Deepest Convictions Confirmed; That Is One Of The Most Abiding Of Human Satisfaction.

Suddenly, I Viddied What I Had To Do, And What I Had Wanted To Do, And That Was To Do Myself In; To Snuff It, To Blast Off For Ever Out Of This Wicked, Cruel World. One Moment Of Pain Perhaps And, Then, Sleep Forever, And Ever And Ever.

Eat This Sweetish Segment Or Spit It Out. You Are Free.