You have left me no choice

I have tried not to go down this path, but you have forced my hand, and now there is no stopping it. There is blood on your hands, that you can not wash away, and it is your fault it is there.

All of the people with your debaucheries like marijuana cigarettes and your expensive vodkas and table service, and your thin models who pretend to like you just because you are a successful hedge fund manager at Lehman Brothers. I have tried to avoid all this, but I can no longer do that.

I sit here and read about all of your flagrant abuses and fouls, such as your low-post double-teams and your setting of picks that are unsportsman-like and detrimental to the fundamentals of the game. Now, My soul is scarred and my choices are shattered.

You have forced your garbage down my throat and have closed the local brand of Quiznos, with their toasted submarine sandwiches and amiable customer service. I have tried to overlook these offenses, but you have forced my hand. No longer will we get free refills, but the beverage of truth is ready to be quaffed by the cupful.

My soul is torched, and my conscience is scarred by your lies and deceits... and also by debaucheries, as outlined in an earlier segment (refer back to that passage for more details). Now there is a different time at hand, a time where I am forced to write like I am a 15-year-old dousche who just finished listening to his first Morrissey album, and issue a warning to all the major news media -- except Jim Lehrer, because I don't watch PBS -- about what I am going to do that will change everything.

I'm going to shoot people, pretty much. Yeah, I guess that's it in a nutshell. Wanna read a play I wrote six months ago?