Terror is the chewy nougat at the center of my personality. I wish my chewy nougat were something else, like for instance love, or honor, or integrity. But terror it is, you work with what you've got. When terror is your chewy nougat, you come to feel a familiarity with terror's effects, the surface disturbances and faint vibrations caused by seemingly remote tremors. I think some people are just born fearful and spend a lifetime trying to overcome it, or hide it, or accommodate it. So what I need is radical nougat replacement surgery, or some kind of nougat transplant. They do it for bone marrow, it's not so far-fetched. Surely there are generous souls who'd be amenable to donating some nougat from their personal stash, surplus rainy day nougat of their own which is in bountiful supply. I need to find a match, there should be a national database. There are many people overflowing with some positive quality or other, not here but maybe two towns over, people brimming with confidence, or trust, or patience, or sweetness, who could afford to part with a little of it to help out a defective fellow citizen, with complete faith, naturally, infuriatingly, that whatever is sacrificed will come back to them in time and leave them even more powerfully endowed with attractive qualities, the bastards. Well forget it, I'm not going to give those magnanimous motherfuckers the satisfaction. No wonder they're so eager to be generous. They get to feel like heroes, lord it over poor impoverished saps like me, their noble deeds leaving them shining even brighter than before. No deal, I'll just keep my terror nougat!