The Pursuit Of Material Gain Is Ultimately

She's So Small, Yet She Contains So Much Evil.

And An Inky-colored Despair Of Rejection Enveloped Me Like The Black Tortilla Of Depression Around A Pain Burrito.

And I'll Have You Know That If You Hurt My Son Again, If He So Much As Sighs Sadly Over His Coffee, I Will Hire A Man, A Russian, Probably, To Hunt You Down And Rip All That Shiny Black Hair From Your Head, Then Break Your Skinny Arms And Legs, And Set You On Fire, And Then Put You Out With A Hammer. And Should There Be Children From Your Beastly Rutting, I Shall Have The Russian Man Cut Them To Tiny Pieces And Feed Them To Madame Jacob's Dog. Because, Although He May Be Only A Worthless, Simpleminded, Libertine Artist, Lucien Is My Favorite, And I Will Not Have Him Hurt. Do You Understand?

So Now You're Death: Here's What You'll Need

Angels Are Just Pretty Insects.