re: #195 The Ghost of a Flea

I don’t rage well. It’s all “I stab at thee, and your Fabian heart shall be flushed into hell to be Satan’s still-beating loofa.”

Not so much modern wingnut, more like Captain Ahab after he’s been at the acid blotter.

Quality rage from King Lear:

Osw. What dost thou know me for?
Kent. A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, 1 hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting 2 slave; one that wouldst be a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch; one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deni’st the least syllable of thy addition. 3