Me – Wielder of folded up section of the Post Gazette “Mag & Movie” section, expertly crafted into a deadly, well-folded insectoid death-dealing machine.
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You - House fly the size of a ’53 Buick, buzzing around erratically, never landing or remaining still long enough for me to crush the living bejeebus out of you.
The missed connection is the one between my folded up Dennis Quaid and Willem Dafoe-emblazoned entertainment section with your rotten, disease-addled carcass. How I wish that I were able to swiftly bring down my ‘Section-C of Justice’ on your buzzing insectoid form, but alas, it was not meant to be. Maybe one of your friends will read this and pass on my email to you. I hope that one day I will be brave enough to talk to you if I ever see you again, or that perhaps chance will bring you to rest on a part of my desk or the wall that is within the reach of my razor-sharp Post Gazette.
Die, goddamn flies. Die die die.