Privation

Hi, my name is Kalbfus Kreinenstedtler, and boy-howdy! As you can imagine, the news of that guy taking a bunch of guns to a Lancaster, Pennsylvania, school really bugged me this week. Not least of all because I'm Amish myself, but also because I made plans coincidentally to be the first Amish serial-killer school-shooter.

Sonuvabitch. I spent the entire month of September carving these bullets out of pine. Now what am I supposed to do with them? I have a laquered, mortis-and-tendon double-barrelled shotgun that I slaved over for days. Days. What, you think lathes just push themselves around?

I'm pissed off about buttons. You know -- buttons on your clothes. We have to use hasps and hooks to close our shirts. Apparently, the simple button is the work of the English devil. Barn-raising and endless churning is one thing. I'll even accept the fact that my wife is never going to give me oral. But don't expect me to live with these indignities while fumbling with fucking hasps whenever I'm trying to get dressed. I'm so tired of hooks. How can the button be so bad? What is so decadent about the English devil's invention? It's not as if I'm braying like an ass for a Playstation 3. Buttons! That's all.

And now this bag-of-dousche goes Kleibold on a school full of little girls, playing out whatever sick fantasy he had running through his head. This guy has no idea how much he fucked up my week. Well, while I'm on the subject, do you think that Iranian fella Aqua-mini-chad has any use for a peck of teak hand grenades?