Yeah, you. What the fuck, man? Yeah. You. Again: what the fuck, man?
Don’t look at me like you don’t know. You know exactly what you’re doing. You are an asshole. A big bag of poo. Poo. Poo. As in fecal matter. Poo. That’s you.
Is that your best comeback you fucking stupid face? Fuck you, too. Yeah.
Oh you did not just go there. You did not. I cannot believe you are still standing there. You are the biggest piece of mungen to ever walk the earth. A 30 second timeout, and it’s been three. Fucking. Minutes.
You really wanna do this, man? Really? OK. Fine. Someone hold my glasses. Let’s go. Let’s do it. I will fucking tear you apart like a Claire Danes-shaped éclair. You are mine, fuckface.
And you’re gonna just stand over there. After I take my glasses off? What kind of a world do we live in, where you can just stand over there after what you just did and not even come over here and fight me like they would in Edgar Rice Burroughs novels? It’s not like I’m riding a fucking velociraptor into battle. You aren’t a man. You’re less than a man. You are Hillary Clinton. I don’t need this fucking shit, not fighting a man who’s not even a man. Man, let’s get out of here Julio. Fuck this guy and his stupid red fucking hat and his fucking stupid ass ear phone thing like he’s some fucking futures trader about to buy frozen orange juice concentrate because he’s a fucking inside trading douche. Yeah. Yeah, fuck you, I just made a Trading Places reference. Ass.
Oh. Ohhhh. That’s how it’s gonna be? Well take this.
Anyway. See you next week. Text me or something.
82 Sluggo Win 