being costanza.

I have this wit and barbed sarcasm. They are weapons, the only ones I've ever been trained to use. My handling of these weapons is flawless, the delivery clean and sometimes staggered in effectiveness. They contain such sharp points the incisions themselves bear a sort of metaphysical nature, occasionally causing the victims to not only ponder the wound but the instrument itself. They are carefully crafted, tested. They are true.

Unfortunately, when a battle comes, they are slow to production.

And then I'm forced to use half-completed weapons or another form of combat, such as silence or self-deprecation.

Then, almost as a form of torture, these tools continue to roll off the production line well after the battle is over. What am I supposed to do with them now? Sit on these situationally-honed tools in the event I may employ them elsewhere? The chances of this are slim. No, these are not weapons for the future. These, dear friends, are disgraceful reminders of ineptitude.

Just like George.