There are worse things than death...

...and I can do all of them.

I have reserved several of these depraved things for the sundry half-wits I have run into today. Why is it that every moment I spend not locked up in my apartment with a book, my patience and sanity depend on the competence of my fellow human beings? Every dough-brained Pez-dispenser that seems able to invade my consciousness to interfere with my temper seems completely bent on doing so.

From the migraine fields--
Matt