In every single waking hour of the days that make up the gregorian calendar, I think to myself about how much I absolutely detest the woefully pathetic image of your existence.

If every atom within every universe inside every multiverse on the planes of reality within every timeline were accounted for, their paltry numbers wouldn't be enough to fill a single angstrom of the colossal monument that is my hatred for the knowledge that your presence is within any of my six senses. A single syllable of your title brings about a swift malevolent annihilation of which the likes no one has ever seen or heard of before in reality or in legend.

For you, mild resentment.