Middle-aged toy poodle staring catatonically into the distance thinking negative thoughts in a formless, rant-like, seemingly endless manner while teaching his son how to use drugs.com/pillidentifier* to identify the pills that—in 3 or 4 years, if the son becomes anything like his father, which the father has anticipated and taken a kind of initiative toward facilitating, perhaps misguidedly, with this lesson—will become "[the son's] only source of peace and contentment and occasional respite in a world where pain and confusion and anxiety seem for some to be so dominant as to be inescapable, really…where finally even the pills will become sources of worry and anxiety as each high becomes less powerful, necessitating larger doses or a spacing-out that ultimately only simply maintains the low-level depression which…in a world of 'tolerance' and death and in-born desires…where pain and sadness and anxiety seem for some to [~1500-words of silent, increasingly circular, stream-of-consciousness 'ranting' as his son struggles to locate 'backspace' with one of his feet]."*by the circuitous method of typing "pill identifier" in Google instead of "drugs.com/pillidentifier" in the URL bar (the result of an anti-drug campaign which reasoned, egregiously inaccurately, that less pills would be ingested if it were more difficult to identify them)
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