Maniacs of Procreation, bipeds with devalued faces, we have lost all appeal for each other.

Wherever we go, we come up against the human, a repulsive ubiquity before which we fall into stupor and revolt, a perplexity on fire.

The multiplication of our kind borders on the obscene; the duty to love them, on the preposterous.

Revenge is not always sweet, once it is consummated we feel inferior to our victim.