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the diminished responsibility
they said that my integrity was not in question. but it was. they said it was just a way of ensuring due process. but it was an insult. they said it was nothing personal. if they knew they could get away with it, they would nail me through my wrists to a splintery wooden table, saw open my gut with a bread-knife, pull out my stomach, cook it and feed it to me over, and over, and over again; so that I couldn't be nourished, and would plead with them to use the axe once and for all.
i am thinking of saying something about it. but - then again - i might just accept it and shut up.
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To date 5 Comment(s)
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(24.5.05 15:00)
You've just described what women go through every month. I suggest a couple of paracetamol. When they've released you from the table and you're staggering around with your entrails hanging out try roller-blading in white trousers. Labrador optional.
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(24.5.05 16:04)
sounds good to me... at least you get fed constantly..... i hear that stomach tastes like chicken under the right circumstances...... :D
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(27.5.05 11:27)
When did you get back, from Outer Space? I just walked in and found you here with that sad look upon your face.
I should have ...
Oh.
Wait.
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