Apr. 13, 2003 - 10:48 p.m.
I think you forget yourself. I am no man's meat. I am at the top of the food chain, and you are barely worth the effort to type this response.
This silly wench asked me not so long ago, "What are you afraid of?" I think the look I gave her was enough of an answer, but she was pretty fucking dense, so I had to clarify.
"Sweetheart, it's not a matter of fear. It's a matter of choice. There are the predators, and there are the prey, and I am not your prey."
I realize I look absolutely delicious in black velvet, but I am ever so sorry. You just were not invited to this buffet.
I've tried being polite, (well, as polite as I get) and I ignored you. It seems that a hint as subtle as a bulldozer just didn't convince you, so let me try again.
Stop making threats and just do it. End your miserable existence and make the world a much more peaceful place.
That is all I wanted to say.
