Look at a five-year-old-child – do not think her an angel. Do not pull her chubby cheeks. Do not pick her up and hug her, or ask her inane questions to listen to her baby answers. But at least, walk away. Stay far far away from her if you think your loins are bubbling over with lust; move away, walking backwards quickly, not looking her in the eye, if you are thinking unspeakable things in your head. For she is not the reason. You – with your filthy, depraved, demonic thoughts and your mind full of worms wriggling in slime – YOU are at fault. Go to the nearest concrete wall and bang your head on it repeatedly till your skull, along with your thoughts, are crushed to pulp; take a long red flame and stick it down your throat, burning your mouth and your insides beyond repair; cut out your eyes, your limbs, your sex organ – everything that is causing you to morph into a demon. And die. Brutally. Painfully. The world is not for you.