This, if you are not a frozen crystal of anger, will thaw you but good.
Or as an anonymous commenter on Jim Woodring's blog says:
Did I ever say it? I am the son of Sluggo, who carelessly wasted the best of his dew kissed days, and who looked neither forward nor back, choosing instead to lovingly know each day platonically and lay down with every dusk and know it carnally.
Sluggo, whose gaze fell when they passed the hat. Sluggo, for whom every cooling pie was a gift from God. Sluggo, the enemy of effort, the opposite of opposition.
Man, I wish I'd written that.