Mumbles. My mumbles. I mumble a lot.

Ungrateful bastards.

Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

Honestly. Our main concern here is for the greater good, and even that you could not appreciate. It's good enough that we are open for suggestions, that we are even there to listen to your worries and woes, your requests. If we decide to go our own way and not have a hoot about what you have to say, again, you'd go off like a pressure cooker.

See what I mean? Ungrateful load of filth.

We are trying to fulfill YOUR needs here, not ours. Do consider. If it would make things any better, I would, with an open heart, let all this go and let people like you handle this. Only then you'd know what pile of crap we have to go through, again, to fulfill YOUR needs.

This is sickening.

And all it takes is just a bit of manners. And you're not even able to do that. Sickening, ungrateful bastards.

Something is really bugging me tonight at this late hour.

I've noticed that I have been picturing a lot of images related to boxing gloves as of late. Weird.

I've pictured my face being hit with full blow by someone wearing a boxing glove, pictured other people being hit full blow in the face in the same manner, and somehow stumbled upon some clips about, well, boxing.

Peculiar indeed, my dear Watson.

I can't really explain these occurences, or why it happens. Perhaps it's a sign that I'm made for this field (though my physical built would beg to differ), or perhaps it is a sign that I require assistance? The latter does sound a bit serious doesn't it?

Another peculiar thing is, these gloves are always red.