Why is there still so much pain and suffering being produced when there's so little demand for it?

I may not be perfect, but parts of me are excellent.

Where would I be without my sense of direction.

Some of my troubles are so familiar, I know them by their first names.

Is it you and I who are crazy, or is it everybody else?

I have no prejudices: all my irrational hatreds are based on solid evidence.

I march to a different drummer, whose location, identity, and musical training haven't yet been established.