Litany of Lies

The rocket pointed at my chest had a blue laser streaming vapidly with sick precision from the bitter poisoned tip of the blade's cutting teeth and ripping jaws encased in seething suspicions which were hideously sharpened by radioactive bio-harzardous sewage-drenched chainsaws of mediocrity and the gut-wrenchingly nauseating stench of an unclean spirit of error.

The very originality and gusto of the sentence above is proof enough: I am like no other, especially now.

The unclean spirit of error whispered into the Group Ear: this is a danger.

I was painted with broad strokes of insurgency against the intruder, crusader, liberator, customer service repairer.

A one-man complaint and suggestion department, which is the true heart of any operation, I shielded my eyes from the shame. A filthy rinse of slobberings filled every cup with putrid juice. I looked into and successfully entered my deeper inner self, my secret power station where the unconscious, nonconscious, and superconscious meet and shake hands.