I make you take shots to mess you up. You are weak. I make you even weaker for my amusement. I know you can’t stop. You need to see me, my smile, my eyes. That’s why you crawl back, offering your money, just to look at me. It’s entertaining to waste your money. I ignore you, flip you the finger, make you stare at the bottom of my boot or give you a smile that will fuck you over. I humiliate you about how weak you are. I light up and burn you with my cigar. I don’t care about you past any entertainment you might provide by being unable to resist me when I drain your accounts.