The Desk.

The Truth? You can't handle the Truth. We live in a world where good and evil are perceived relatively, and that perception has to be held up by scapegoats. Who's going to do it? You? You, little miss Christian? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for the ones in my wake and you curse my methods. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That the fate of my victims, while tragic, is for the common good. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, is for the common good. You don't want the truth. Because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me here, you need me here. I use words like pride, power, passion. I use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a girl who rises and sleeps under the blanket of righteousness that I provide and questions the manner in which I provide it. I'd rather you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise I suggest you pick up your slack and see what it's like to be hated. Either way I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to.


Five points if you know what I just parodied. Ten points if you know what I'm talking about. Twenty points if you can figure out my 8-28 post, cause nobody has yet.