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Or, alternately, a cannon.
Bitches love those, too.

Sangwoo, is that you...?

I'm the young and dashing hero that lagged behind in their quest to slay the monsters, only to eventually stray off the angel's path entirely, step by step by step. When, after far too long, I finally looked up, I was halfway down the devil's road-- so I turned my face away from promises, put my back to the sun, and continued on with a maddened laugh and a lightness I'd not felt in much too long.

But that's not proper lab protocol... Any decent chemistry teacher would know that protocol dictates long pants or other full leg coverings are classified as a form of personal protective equipment, and must be worn at all times when working with hazardous materials...
--Resident paranoid uni student who's been told that too many fucking times to be able to forget

I get the feeling that whoever wrote this has never been swarmed by a nest of fireants seeking revenge for their now-downtrodden home in the tall grass that you didn't even fucking know was there.
(One word: Texas.)