Credit for the title goes to Al Franken.

So the other half of the entity known as Razzabeth (I'm one half,  piratechick69 is the other) just had her heart crushed by a boy she thought was her pet. This kid had given her this image of him as a pure, honest, untouched, willing single sub with impeccable manners and a crazy, super-conservative family. Turns out he's been online dating a girl in FL for the past year and his family is just a bunch of normal Republicans. And now he wants to break it off with my friend.

It's not so much the other girl that hurt her (she's poly), it's the fact that he lied. Now she has to call into question everything he's ever told her.

You all know that the 'sona I've been using is Elsinore, the whie rabbit with the lion and bear ancestry. What you don't know is that she's my fantasy-sona. She's everything I wish I could be: fit, athletic, good with weapons and hand-to-hand, independent, able to go out and forcefully change the world for the better.

I have another 'sona that comes out at times like this. It's what I call my me-sona. Liz the dragon is a pudgy, out-of-shape, nineteen year old college student majoring in creative writing with near constant writer's block, who couldn't hold her own in a fight with a bucket of clams, complains about everything and has an unhealthy fondness for chocolate and fried chicken. She represents who I really am, all the bad aspects that people normally try to phase out in their 'sonas. But she's got the good aspects too. And one of those is an extreme, almost insane loyalty to her friends and family.

When somebody hurts someone I care about, or sometimes if I'm in extreme need, the Grand Dragon comes out.

The Grand Dragon is the part of me that, in seventh grade, helped me keep my head after getting kicked by a horse in the arm and leg. The Grand Dragon got me onto that same horse bareback and helped me ride it up the hill to the barn, where I calmly dismounted, tied the horse to a hitching post, walked into the office and fainted.

The Grand Dragon, in eighth grade, caused me to tackle an older boy who was sexually molesting one of my friends while he was holding the nail gun. It's what kept me on my feet when that gun went off and sent two nails into my shoulderblade. The Grand Dragon is what wrenched the gun out of his hand, punched out two of his teeth, scratched him down the back so badly he needed 20 stitches, and kneed him in the balls before pulling out my cell phone and calling 911 so that they could come pick all three of us up.

The Grand Dragon is what will help me kill the bitch who tore my family apart four years ago if she should ever be unlucky enough to come within a mile of me.

The Grand Dragon is waiting for this boy right now. I can feel it behind my eyes, looking out. It tinges my vision with red and blue, giving everything an aura of vibrant color. It wants to get this boy on the phone or on IM, or better, in person, where he can't run away, and tear into him with words that will make him understand the consequences of what he did.

If I were a person with an income, the Grand Dragon would be buying tickets to Texas right now to hunt him down.

I have to apologize, my dearest. I told you I had homework, and that is true, but the real reason I left was because if I didn't do something else soon I was going to grab your computer and let the Dragon loose on him in IM. I still might.

I need to do something to get rid of this anger. This journal helped a little, but not enough. Drawing and writing aren't working, and I don't feel like inflicting myself on G2 in this condition. Maybe I'll hit a pillow. I don't know.