However calm I remained – however mindful I could myself rationalize that he was merely another cog in our collective societal cesspool – I was still convinced he should die. And his death undoubtedly necessitated severe pain and degradation. A bullet down his throat as his bloodshot eyes bulged in terror, tepid and foul urine uncontrollably streaming down his left leg begging for forgiveness was simply not enough to provide justifiable satisfaction. Perhaps crude but I wanted to shit on his face. I coveted rubbing the warm odoriferous stool into his mouth and throat, reveling in the stench molecules aggressively planting stakes into his unsuspecting cilia. I envision a devil’s dance of my own as the ungrateful and lazy fraud forcibly offers a taste of his rotten fatty core.