You’re less intelligent than me; you’re physically weaker than me; you’re less attractive than me; you’re less mature than me; you’re less talented than me; you’re less than me. The bottom line is that I know precisely what you are: you’re inferior to me. In fact, you’re alive only because I permit you to be. You troll my wall with your fringe-illiterate, blithering psychopathy solely because I spare you my noblesse oblige in tolerating your pusillanimity when, in fact, if I decided to triangulate your coordinates and track you down, then, like a wolf spider crawling over the carcass of a cricket, there would be nothing – virtually nothing – your weak and powerless self could do to stop me. You would simply vanish only to be rediscovered 11 months later as bones in ferns.

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