I killed the pink rope today.

It was annoying me. I shook it as you must to break the spine of the thing in your mouth, I bit down on each end to make sure it was vanquished, then I carefully, delicately shredded the guts out of it. It broke apart in a very satisfying manner, so much so that I had to roll onto my back and hold it aloft in triumph. The lackey seemed pleased she had bought the thing until she realised it was being killed. It unravelled beautifully. The rope untwisted into four clumps of fibres and I picked the layers off each of these legs until it was a tangled, frayed, ripped, ragged mess. Glorious.