A good place to start is with a definition.
windeeeliciousness
1. (adjective) selfish and malicious.
2. (noun) The following short fable that will take less than two minutes
to read and comes with a disclaimer*.
It’s not my fault, I am not responsible, it wasn't my choice to be cast into this world, a skinny mutt with no butt and a rat's tail. I wish I had a butt, if I had a butt maybe I could get more people to give me things.
I was fed well, fine cheeses, paté and soup of oxtail so the skinny didn't last and i had some gas. A Phoung thought the gas made me windelicious, the name stuck like a tattoo because it fit so well. My farts came from the food, keep reading to learn where the maliciousiness came from.
My mother and sister were fine but my father cared only for himself that made him a cruel tyke who left piles whenever he liked. One day he left a particularly offensive pile on a bed and was rewarded with a newspaper across the head. That made him even more selfish and mean. He didn’t learn from it but I did, then I fled.
Once I was on my own, I pursued the thing I loved most in the world: shoes. I loved their shine. I loved their scent. I loved the way good leather felt between my teeth. If I ever felt devotion to anything beyond myself, it was to shoes.
One afternoon I saw a magnificent pair being worn by a man walking down the street. They were exactly the sort of shoes I dreamed about. So I widened my eyes, lifted my ears, wagged my tail, and put on the saddest expression I could manage.
The performance worked. The man took me home.While I ate the free meal he provided, he put the shoes away. Unfortunately, I did not see where he hid them. That meant I needed to stay.
The arrangement suited me. The man fed me well. He took me on outings. He let me ride in his car. He gave me a warm place to sleep. He treated me as though I mattered.
I enjoyed every benefit he provided. None of it changed my purpose. Every day I searched for those shoes.
To maintain the illusion, I behaved myself. I acted grateful. I acted loyal. I acted friendly. I kept my worst impulses under control. Even so, a little of my nature escaped from time to time, much as an unpleasant odor escapes from a poorly sealed room.
Eventually I found the shoes. I tore them apart with great enthusiasm. Then I waited. I expected outrage. I expected anger. I expected a spectacle worthy of my efforts.
Instead, when the man found the ruined remains of his favorite shoes, he looked sad. Only sad. The reaction irritated me. His sadness left me with a problem. It is much easier to justify hostility when the other party is angry. It is harder when they are merely disappointed.
So I invented a solution. I decided the man's sadness was the offense. Who was he to feel hurt? Who was he to expect gratitude? Why should his disappointment interfere with my freedom to do whatever I pleased?
The reasoning was absurd, but it served its purpose. The man became the villain. I became the victim. Having settled the matter to my satisfaction, I bit him hard on the hand. Then, before leaving, I left a pile of poop on his bed.
You see, my flatulence came from rich food. My malice came from my father. In the end I had become exactly what he was: a creature willing to harm those who cared for him simply because he could.
* This is a work of pure fiction, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental.