In the catalogue of dreams of infertile action

In the catalogue of dreams of infertile action and impotent deed, my subject shall be: just grievances never addressed, with and without revenge (with an appendix on petty force).

smoker in front of him who was searching for her ID with the purpose and pace of lame-duck molasses. Otto didn't want to be a cutter, but his ice cream was getting sweaty, so he

stood up tall on his tip-toes, puffed out his chest, and with the authority of 1,000 dictators, demanded that she move out of his way because he didn't want to eat melty ice cream.

He cut in front of the DQ line. "Excusez-moi, la creme glace veuillez!" The counter guy looked down, "Back in the line Napoleon and wait with the rest!" Loud cheers erupted.

Napoleon adjusted his hat and put his hand in his coat. These fast food DQ lackies obviously didn't realize that he'd been crowned Emperor. He pulled out his sabre

and ran it through the pimply teen behind the counter. A blood curdling scream ensued. Napoleon looked around, surprised at the reaction, and calmly began daubing the blood on a DQ

Heath bar blizzard. It reminded him of the time his Auntie Gloria had eaten one, and then projectile vomited heath bar blizzard all over the rented cabin, it looked like

a stoner's mucousy expulsion chunked with melted Rocky Road ice cream. That gave him bad memories of his first codependent relationship, alienated, neglected, seeing body fluids.

But he never wanted to revisit that time. Instead, he passed by a 7-11 and bought himself a jumbo sized slushie and ate it while driving his Ford Taurus over a cliff to his death.