A busload of South American diplomats?
At least you're original this time.
With two well-placed shots, I undo your threat faster
than a frat boy unhooks a freshman's bra.
As diplomats scatter, you run away, your roar
petulant and weak.
I chase you through the park, shouting for you to stop.
Do you ever listen? No.
I didn't think evil equaled dumb, but I'm starting to wonder.
You zig, then zag,
across a busy road before snatching a teen from a passing
    jeep, holding her up
by her ponytails as
if she was a screaming, twitchy prize.
Did you see what was in the distance behind you?
Apparently not.
Amongst the squeal of car tires and twitchy teenage prize,
as cell phone owners click pics like OCD patients,
I implore you to drop the girl and surrender.
"Never," you cry.
The girl's tears transport me to when my teenage love was
    sacrificed
by a sadist in green.
I react with a determination I'd lacked then, ripping her from
    your grasp with a blast of
webbing
not caring about her hair loss,
flinging her to safety,
then truss you up like a tasty snack.
You snarl through my web, threatening to destroy me.
Dumb.
I slingshot your scaly ass into the State pen behind you,
dropping you into the center courtyard.
Snarl on that.