Sexy Gun
Lyndsay Mueller
Riposte
Ian Rollison

Step
into my office, dear friend, and
let’s talk a moment.
Suffice it to say, dear friend,
you need a kind word. Your
only forte, my dear friend, is
not conversation. You
are an idiot indeed, dear friend,
so heed my advice.

Thrust
yourself into fame? Dear Friend, you’ve
got it all wrong. You’re much
too odd; your foibles, dear friend, make
others despise you. They
think you a fool, my dear friend,
they bathe in your failure.
Oh yes, it’s quite grand, dear friend, to
see you stumble and fall.

Step
into your shoes? Dear friend, they’re
battered and disgusting.
Like you, as it were. Dear friend, take
heart;  it’s your purpose.
You foil all success, dear friend, with
such zeal. It’s inspiring
to see such anguish, dear friend,
keep up the splendid work.

Parry
your ignorant fears? Dear friend,
endure them. It brings
such happiness, my dear friend, to
watch you suffer at the
hands of confidants. Dear friend, why
such pain in your eyes?
This rendezvous, dear friend, is
not what you had in mind?

Thrust
this all upon you? Dear friend, you’ve
missed the aim. This line’s
been left wide open, my dear friend;  but
there’s no reprise to my
words. You’ve lost. Match point, dear friend,
it’s advised you learn from this
engagement. Some words, dear friend,
cut worse than rapiers.