-=Dark_Angel=-, P.I.4 Feb 2004

I'll tell you when it stops being funny, my lad. How dare you goad me into shame with a trite and underhand appeal to my wither'd sense of bravery? An appeal - I might add - that serves mainly to stroke and caress the boiled tumours on your own batter'd conscience. As it happens, I never found this affair particularly amusing, and was half-hoping my ever more ludicrous remarks would be interpreted as such. Does that make me half the naughty boy you thought I was? Good Christ I hope so.

A straight-up conversation, you say? Well perhaps 13 year olds ought to be patronised. Forgive me. Watch me now as I try to claw myself back from the abyss, being utterly inconsistent in my behaviour, almost to the last detail, the smoothing over of relations a thinly veiled disguise for the desperate, self-prescribed, guilt-soothing therapy of a silly, naughty bully who couldn't stop because it made him feel like a big man. These comments will self-destruct in blah blah blah