It Look's Like Man

 Saturated within the viscous platitudes that spew from that animated orifice called a mouth residing offensively just below your upraised snout, I stand smiling in awe at how the weight of your ego does not snap that bird-like neck upon which your well tended-head sits grandiosely upon? It speaks, and it vaunts, and does little else but pollute the air about it with venemous and noisy expulsions. I take offense, and this offense spawns action. With little effort, I tear off the head that spoke so appraisingly of itself with but a bare-handed grip clasped joyfully around his once stiff and haughty neck. The night responds happily with a grateful silence. The shaking of the body at my feet disturbs this moment of peace. A voice is crying out in the wilderness. Come all who are weary and I will give you rest! A long, restful slumber.