You know, I'm sure there's an audience out there for this stuff. I mean, surely, somewhere in the world someone is being beaten unconscious or something. Somewhere there are adolescent boys who need to rebel against gods, or authority, or both. Perhaps they are rebelling even against the idea of beauty itself. Somewhere. Out there. Not here. My parents were good people. I have friends and family who love me for who I am and what I can become. I love puppies and kittens. Sure, I have my angstful edges. Who doesn't? But this? No.

Just...no.

I mean, sure, there's obvious technical ability buried in this horrific grindcore, extreme metal mess somewhere. There's also technical precision in the designing and building of nuclear warheads. I'm also opposed to those.

I love kittens and puppies. My ears hurt. I feel the need to pour peroxide down the canals just in case something got in there and could grow, like those mind control bugs from Wrath of Khan. Where the hell are my fucking kittens?

One sponge. Delete.