you are obsessively selfish, a point of urination among fountains of refreshing perspectives. if you thought i was going to allow myself to drain the cancerous fluid from your own closet-case insecurity, you may as well have not have been thinking at all. while it may be impossible to understand why neurological misfiring only affects you, i am sure that the other one percent of anomalies are more defective.
and that really brings all of us to a point of culmination that compels a solution to a problem you long indulged in its creation. i tried to convince myself that the best possible outcome of this political game of pugilistic afterthought was going to have to be delivered in a contained rebuttal-cum-vindication. however, logic is only sufficient when (or if) you are assessing the most efficient way to kill a terrible bunny rabbit, but in this case, it would be incredibly insufficient and perhaps lead to a foreseen malpractice claim intended to disrupt my very existence.
…fair enough, you said that you would talk yourself out of it and that if it simply was not going to work, that you would follow up by procuring the poison yourself. but how you managed to talk yourself out of committing self-inflicted suicide is really beyond my cognitive competency. either way, even if i was to stand up and applaud your brevity, it would not exactly be very conducive to principle to entertain a more candid approach to the relaxation of the axiomatic rule of ‘the accomplice.’
and now, that we are standing in front of a judge of a higher moral order, you begin to break down and disappoint. is it because the proposed solution was self-combustion or is it because i had no other choice but to commit arson (while being fully aware of the other aggravating nature of the offense, namely that you were trapped inside). it is a tragedy, i will concede that much. however, how did you expect me to regain the very freedom that human agency affords me in time of crisis? death by lynching was too violent, by hanging too cruel and by bullet too medically inappropriate. arson then, seemed to be the only justified way to dispel of your constant nuisance and to subsequently allow for the nourishment of the moral scab that has now been healing my culpable state of mind for longer than you can remember.
oh, and (if your grandmother asks), i no longer intend to be induced by a glucose-dripping parasite older than the word geriatric itself. my promise to you is that you will not be back.
sign on the broken line. 