Your money. Periodically your intellect and sense of humor and eyeing you dissolve under My intensity. But mostly – yes, your money. – Don’t be too funked, I don’t nibble – that would be too much of a privilege. But if I find you tastey, I’ll drink you alive. You, hopping to the ceiling, trying to meet My expectation – that’s what you should hope. I decide what I want, if I want and when. You linger and you pay or you run away and cry.
