"But discussing literature is a personally edifying thing!," he shouted at the top of his lungs before imploding at the Snickers complex in outer space. He was the only victim of his attack, as usual.
He was a loner. Not because he was a-lone -- it seems to me he was always with people -- but because he wasn't understood.
You wouldn't understand, because he didn't want to be understood. Nobody understood his life, or his death. The only person privy to those Snicker-y in-jokes was him.
Whenever I see people falling prey to that caramel and chocolate goodness, I'm for some reason reminded of his tragedy.
Isn't nobody going read you if you confabulate more than one sentence, guy.