I do not see much happiness at the heinous ones, sometimes half-opening the cesspool to feel the odor exciting of sulphurized hydrogen, for which one would need rather a little oxygen.
I understand that hating it is unhappy; neither included/understood, neither liked, nor magnet.
The portrait of revenge: The plague is parasitic cheap usurers with the skin like a rotted carrot section and with the swinging cheeks like two pairs of eggplants and with the eyes stirring up like two lame cockroaches.
He should be alright in a few hours. Right now he´s curled up on my roof staring at an ancient bottle of coke that has sprouted a primitive sort of vegetation in its murky, syrup-laden insides.