Frasier's evil twin strikes again
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I've asked you before, do you know who the fuck I am? Right now, in this moment, I am the angel of fucking death for you. And the next few minutes are gonna feel like perdition itself if you don't tell me what I need to know. Nod. You wanna play. Let's fucking play. How small. How pedestrian. How fucking cheap. Do you understand how little your petty act of defiance even registers? And to what end? Make your mundane, inconsequential life mean something? You want to feel, is that it? Feel needed? Worth it? You want to fucking matter? You don't. You don't fucking matter. Whatever station you occupy, others have given you... Those of us who make things, who matter. And you know this...That's your burden...That forever, no matter how hard you work, how many futile sacrifices you make, how deeply you commit, you know it will always be another's hand that feeds you. Because that's what you are, that's what you'll always be... Dependent. And now you have designs on shifting your dependency. How numbingly predictable. Go ahead. But before you walk out of this room, I want names.
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Boss