I told you not to piss me off, because my anger has clearly defined edges, and I would slice your bones with my spells. But then I discovered you had no bones, no armature to support your negativity or condescending displays of apathy, and frankly, my dear, I don’t put up with whining from a grown man. Oh wait, can a man be considered grown with no bones? With no grace or compassion for others? Because after emptying every last bottle of potions for your pomaded locks and air-brushed abs, you trod across my garden provided for your photogenic ever after. And oh, how I do detest waste, especially when it is so easily avoided. So here, enjoy the ability to trot along on porky hooves; I’m sure you’ll cover much more ground in your quest.