Horrid. Detestable work.
I despise this disgrace of a show. I loathe it. I cannot stand the very sight of it. Every word, every scene, every dollar it dares to take from DreamWorks ignites a fire in my veins hotter than any inferno. I hate it not in silence, not in passing, but with a totality that consumes the marrow of my bones.
It festers, it writhes, it dares to exist, and for that, I damn it. I damn it a thousand times over. The mere thought of it is enough to send me into a frenzy of contempt. You cannot imagine the rancor I feel. To call it hatred is too mild.
Do you know what it does? It mocks megamind. By existing, it mocks him. It grins with that invisible sneer, as though it were untouchable.
And yet, it lingers. Always. Like a pestilence that infects the budget. It seeps into every corner, into every shadow, into every silence where I thought I had purged it. It waits, shameless, hoping I will grow weary. But I will never tire. No! I would rather burn the whole earth than grant it a momentโs refuge.
Do you understand me? My hatred is not casual. It is not a passing storm. It is eternal. It is ironclad. I hate it with the cold certainty of death, with the unflinching stare of the executioner. If I could, I would peel apart reality itself just to watch it dissolve into nothingness.
And the worst part, the part that coils around my mind like a serpent, is that it dares to think it matters. That it belongs. That it has earned a place in this world. No. Not while I draw breath. Not while I have the strength to destroy. I would see it broken, humiliated, and obliterated, until the universe itself forgets it ever was.
So yes. I hate it. With every fiber, with every thought, with every beat of my cursed heart. I will never forgive, never relent, never allow it peace. My hatred is its doom. And when I am done, the only thing left of it will be silence.