The Wages of Spin

What to tell ... what to tell ...

This guy, knuckles dragging, balls engorged, this guy cuts a mean swathe. This guy, with his head so heavy he needs a crane to lift it. This guy, his word the butter that drips from the beds of heaven, the smoothest, most chestnut brown, most satisfying coffee picked from the highest points yet known. This guy, whose every motion is an exercise in kinetic perfection, guided from HIS own very hand. He is but a wonder to behold. This guy, his every thought so exquisitely calculated, so expertly delivered as though crafted by hand in a laboratory filled, miles long, with the most adept creative and logical minds this world has ever produced. Truly, truly a wonder ...

At least, in his own eyes.

I see this ...

This tiny man, his ears flapping away, so disproportionately large they threaten at all times to consume his head in an elephantine blanket. This man, his rose colored nose swollen at the tip like the genitalia of a great baboon. This man, with his oceanic, inflated ego, as transparent as tissue . . .

Let him taste true pain. He earned it.