Despite all of your best efforts, I still live. The knives in the dark alleyway, the poison-laced wine, the acid-filled Wanglaoji can, and the ravenous rabies-infected giant panda — I have bested them all. Though they have induced in me, apparently, a condition that causes me to overuse hyphens. No matter, I shall survive that as well.
There are times, though, that I almost wished you had succeeded. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with children in the classroom. I don’t mean real children, I mean the zombie-fied little menaces masquerading as university students, and who have yet to discover their purpose on this planet. Though the latter is a common predicament, isn’t it?
I don’t want to get into that at the moment.
Let’s talk about you. You are a vile, gluttonous (and glutenous), swarthy, pig-headed mote of a being. The next time you see me will be the last time you see anything. You will die with my smile reflected in your bulbous eyes, and I will take them as trophies for my mantle place, if only I had a mantle. So I will have to keep them preserved until the point when I do acquire a mantle. That could be quite a long while, as I don’t expect to own a mantle any time soon. In fact, I’m not entirely sure what a mantle is. Above a fireplace, usually, right?
Be warned, and step warily…