Have you ever wondered how much pain the rope feels during tug-of-war? Just to get over to the other side, its bones ripped off, ligaments torn, features mutilated, just for the sake of a few hearty cheers made by imbecilic human beings? And after that, what happens? It gets thrown aside like some abandoned baby at a local rubbish dump, with shreds of flesh dangling like the broken arm of a plastic doll. Have you realised your mistake now? Do you now regret all the gratification of tugging on that little rope, those excitable moments of painful pleasured? How are you going to make it up, to it? And in my world? To her. And her. To them.  

You will not read this. Why will you read this when you are so busy ruining the lives of two innocent girls whose combined age does not even exceed a double digit, such indecently noble tasks that only people beyond redemption will enjoy. Fear not, in our advanced age, you have much company. I long to spit this in your face, but you live too far away. I hope you'll get caught in the rain.