It can't be bargained with! It can't be reasoned with! It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever.
The bomber and I have built a kiln. Any tendril shows a hair on its ass and I incinerate the sonuvabitch.
It can regenerate from 0.7 grammes of rhizome, but I have taken the mantle of a veritable horticultural Ghost Dog:
According to what one of the elders said, taking an enemy on the battlefield
is like a hawk taking a bird. Even though it enters into the midst of a thousand
of them, it gives no attention to any bird than the one it first marked.