He just stole a spatula.  He has, as I have previously mentioned, stolen two paring knives and a pair of kitchen shears.  And now he recently stolen a spatula.  He is concentrating on my kitchen.

His entire program, run by psychotic psychologists, is designed to generate a feeling of helplessness.

But if he walks outside, I will blow his fucking brains all over his brickwork.  He is a devout, practicing coward, who will become the eventual reason for his own death.

I guess I should spend more time sitting in my garage with a beer and a cigar and my AR and wait for him to appear.

The only thing one may do to survive an environment filled with cobras is to kill them.

I advise you to do the same.