Rapaire, you have taken the state of mind normally termed "delusions of grandeur" and you have advanced it into a whole new amplitude of megalomania probably not seen since Nero plagued the City of Rome. Thankfully, however, you are, unlike Nero, relatively powerless. That is what permits me to still sleep with reasonable calm each night.

Shane cares nothing for your mad assertions about his supposed demise. If he wear a dog, he would lift his leg and demonstrate in a fully contemptuous fashion exactly what he thinks about those unfounded assertions.

You have lost it, good sir. You are rambling out of control down a highway of illusion. The streetcar of your mind has left the rails and is veering drunkenly off the road. The parrot of your sense of proportion is dead and has fallen off the perch. You have become unhinged. You have one foot in the loony bin and the other flailing around in empty air. You know not what you say. Your place in the coherent Universe has become officially vacant and will shortly be re-assigned to an unemployed clairvoyant rickshaw driver from Calcutta. Let's hope he makes better use of it than you did.