As he screams, I tell him about the bruises his wife showed me. I rip out a good section, rub the flap of skin against his good eye. He starts to plead, he stutters, it’s a pretty ugly sound. I take the broomstick he beats his son with and jam it into his mouth until I crack his molars. He chokes and gags like an animal with blood and snot and spit. Holding him down with both hands on the stick, I lean and whisper how his secretary never enjoyed a minute of it, that she was frightened and afraid and angry and disgusted. And as he spasms while I choke him, I just cannot stop laughing and laughing and laughing.