… until he finishes ruining my lungs ~ the same way he has already ruined my sexual and reproductive systems, digestion, heart, circadian rhythms, social viability, and ANY CHANCE OF PUBLIC PERFORMANCE.

You see, here in the Land of the Fee and the Home of the Slave, there’s little we love more than a criminal.

It’s our poets of whom we are afraid.

Prove me wrong. I’d like that.