Scrabble Squabble.
Now he is angry because she has made the word qua. He says qua is not English. He says they should both make good, familiar words like the words he has made -- bonnet, realm, and weave -- but instead she sits in her nasty corner making aw, eh, fa, ess, and ax. She says these are words, too. He says even if they are, there is something mean and petty about using them.

Scrabble Squabble.
Now he is angry because she has made the word qua. He says qua is not English. He says they should both make good, familiar words like the words he has made -- bonnet, realm, and weave -- but instead she sits in her nasty corner making aw, eh, fa, ess, and ax. She says these are words, too. He says even if they are, there is something mean and petty about using them.

Standing around talking. I feel like an idiot.
I can't imagine anyone being interested in a thing I have to say.
My words aren't necessary at all.
I have landed on an alien planet and I have no way of getting back home.
After any kind of conversation I am left wondering if it was some sort of act.
Left standing around talking.
And feeling like an idiot.

I'm that annoying little kid who doesn't shut up
and won't get away from you and he's really annoying you
but you tell him to leave and he won't go away.
That's me. (Hello.)

I am a waste of natural resources and I need to be stamped out immediately.
With a large shoe, or perhaps a boot. Contained, snuffed out, eradicated.
And then swept under a carpet and promptly forgotten about.

So come on. Do it. I'm not worried. Go ahead. I don't mind it. Really. Go ahead. I don't mind.