everytime you make me this angry, i feel like i could pour all my anger into little moulds of birds and have them solidify into little vessels of vengence. i would not release into the sky and have them poison some other forsaken domain, nor would i hold them for spite and stupidity, nor would i pick them up one bye one and smash them against the walls of your closed doors and have them burn like acid as they made contact; that would give me no pleasure. i would just have them peck you to death.
