Stress Relievers

I don’t believe in those squeezey –ball stress relievers.

No matter how aggressively you claw at it, it mockingly inflates back to whatever whimsical shape it began with, as if you were never there, reminding you how ineffectual and inconsequential you really are.

It’s apparent to me that the ideal stress-reliever is one that, when squeezed, would shatter into satisfying, irreparable oblivion, crumbling, wounded remnants of my wrath, gasping testament to the world of the great and terrible consequences of my unrelieved stress.

Patent pending.