Whine, whine, whine. How can you afford to throw me those looks when you

haven't pulled the bloody wool from over your eyes yet? How can you say

those things to me when you haven't pulled the boot of the past out of your

mouth? Tepid morals personality set for easy calibration knowledge of

importance paramount. Marooned a suicidal caste deal with isolation grease

the wheels chameleon. Sliding through social strata and yet you still whine.

Your conviction is merely iconographic. I'm so sick of hearing you whine

shut up.