In some strange way, I find comfort in the image of a grown man relishing in kooking someone, his finger rushing to smash that button with unquenchable fervency, for, in that moment, he's relieved of his failures, his doubts, the overall inconsequentiality of his life. For that split second, he feels he's in control of his life, and possesses authority over someone else's. For once, he believes, his voice matters. And even though it doesn't, I'm glad he feels it does, if only for a moment. It's nearly beautiful.