I smile at the image
Of your bloated purple visage
With the shining silver wire wrapped
Snug around your throat
It gives me utmost pleasure
And a fantasy I'll treasure
If the style of execution was
A personal garrote
Notes: Somebody on the bus was annoying me, and I composed the first verse on the spot. I couldn't work out a second verse, though; after asking around, a friend of mine (Fiona Zimmer) came up with the second for me.