That's it!

You. You shall be beaten by cold, pristine logic. I will club you down every time you try to raise your ugly head. You're like the cockroach that appears from behind the curtain when I'm taking a bath, and with a sudden "Wassaaaaaaaaaaa?!" you make your presence felt and nod your feelers to test the tension. Then I smack you with a slipper. Still, with the yellow liquid oozing out of you, you twitch. What's worse, you exist. No amount of convulsive shaking, headless running or lying limp by the drain is going to change that. You exist without reason and that is that. If the human race went to arms against your race of cockroaches, you'd be the Al-Qaeda, the Naxalites, the terrorists hiding in the little nooks and crannies of the world, waiting for an unexpected moment to bomb another building just as if to say "I can, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

Well not anymore. I'm going blitzkrieg on your ass. You will die and I will act the voyeur, laughing.