This Roberto. He No Like

And I'll Have You Know That If You Hurt My Son Again, If He So Much As Sighs Sadly Over His Coffee, I Will Hire A Man, A Russian, Probably, To Hunt You Down And Rip All That Shiny Black Hair From Your Head, Then Break Your Skinny Arms And Legs, And Set You On Fire, And Then Put You Out With A Hammer. And Should There Be Children From Your Beastly Rutting, I Shall Have The Russian Man Cut Them To Tiny Pieces And Feed Them To Madame Jacob's Dog. Because, Although He May Be Only A Worthless, Simpleminded, Libertine Artist, Lucien Is My Favorite, And I Will Not Have Him Hurt. Do You Understand?

Love: The Sickest Of Irony’s Sick Jokes. The Place Where Logic And Order Go To Die.

Just Because He Was Pretty Didn't Mean He Couldn't Be Improved By A Smack Upside The Head With A Piece Of Earnest Hickory

He Was A Writer And Words Were His Weapons.

This Story Is Not And Never Was Meant To Challenge Anyone's Faith; However, If One's Faith Can Be Shaken By Stories In A Humorous Novel, One May Have A Bit More Praying To Do.