You beasts! But I’m not beaten yet. You’ve won the battle, but I’m about to win the wardrobe. My spotty puppy coat is in plain sight and leaving tracks. In a moment I’ll have what I came for, while all of you will end up as sausage meat, alone on some sad, plastic plate. Dead and medium red. No friends, no family, no pulse. Just slapped between two buns, smothered in onions, with fries on the side. Cruella De Vil has the last laugh!
