Father, Why Hath Thou Forsaken Me, the Sock at the Back of the Drawer?
You refuse to wear me because of my stale odor but you refuse to wash me for I have not been worn! This chaotic torment tears my mind asunder!
I met a traveller from an antique land / Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, / Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, / And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, / Tell that its sculptor well those passions read / Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, / The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed: / And on the pedestal these words appear: / "FIRE JAMES DOLAN"
You refuse to wear me because of my stale odor but you refuse to wash me for I have not been worn! This chaotic torment tears my mind asunder!
So please tell me it’s a good idea to set a discrete fire in his wastebasket and blame it on his vape pen. That’s what I’m going to do.