Good point
I don't need no evil clown faced monkey banshee all up in my grill telling me I don't know how to make a decent sandwich!
GOD DAMN, you vicious harlot! How dare you make eyes at me like some kind of a toaster with special x-ray powers or some shit like that! I'm lible to smack you upskide the head with a faux replica of the declaration of independence, marked with an authentic serial number maintining its validity in the courts of England!
And furthermore, don't think I didn't notice yo uswitching glass eyes on me. I'm all over that like a walrus on waffles. And I don't mean those snazzy, fancy-pants Belgian waffles made from real dinosaur eggs and soy protein, but I mean those dancing waffles from India that come with a thirty day, no-money down guarantee!!! With syrup and a little biit of crazy glue, one can find limitless ways of abandoning the front lines in favor for a full forced sledgehammer to the throat of an unsuspecting bus rider on the eve of Saint MArie's birthday celebration in Times Square!
Who writes these stories? Is it that crazy gymnst I saw flinging feces across the street at Macy's? Or was it that psycho journalist hell bent on getting the story no matter what the cost to him or his family? Maybe it was that third bag of potato chips, you fat fat FUCK!!! GOD DAMNIT YOU ARE FAT!!! EAT SOME FUCKING ANTI-FAT AND GROW THINNEr, YOU FAT FATY FAT FUCK!!!
And furthermore, I am NOT selfish.
So FUCK YOU!!!
GOD DAMN, you vicious harlot! How dare you make eyes at me like some kind of a toaster with special x-ray powers or some shit like that! I'm lible to smack you upskide the head with a faux replica of the declaration of independence, marked with an authentic serial number maintining its validity in the courts of England!
And furthermore, don't think I didn't notice yo uswitching glass eyes on me. I'm all over that like a walrus on waffles. And I don't mean those snazzy, fancy-pants Belgian waffles made from real dinosaur eggs and soy protein, but I mean those dancing waffles from India that come with a thirty day, no-money down guarantee!!! With syrup and a little biit of crazy glue, one can find limitless ways of abandoning the front lines in favor for a full forced sledgehammer to the throat of an unsuspecting bus rider on the eve of Saint MArie's birthday celebration in Times Square!
Who writes these stories? Is it that crazy gymnst I saw flinging feces across the street at Macy's? Or was it that psycho journalist hell bent on getting the story no matter what the cost to him or his family? Maybe it was that third bag of potato chips, you fat fat FUCK!!! GOD DAMNIT YOU ARE FAT!!! EAT SOME FUCKING ANTI-FAT AND GROW THINNEr, YOU FAT FATY FAT FUCK!!!
And furthermore, I am NOT selfish.
So FUCK YOU!!!