You...You want to know what I think of you?You're asking me? You're a fool -- a fool to ask that of me. Let me not beat around the bush. I find you a retrograde, disobservant, mole-hearted, volume master on the diatribe of self love -- an under-pressured, crowd following, cigarette flavored, rank stationed producer of invisible toxins and noxious fungal blooms. A mute thoughted, undependable, garlic fearing, auto aggrandizing, gormless, silence provoking, barrel waxing, scab saving, fashion conscious, nose licking, butter eyed, wearer of a deviant eruption of perfumes and a husbandman of foul humours. You are the very noise-tempered, hurry-durring vexer of the inexperienced and the untaught. I wouldn't be surprised if you were a money grubbing political ego-fluffer for hire. Are you still here? Run. Flee. Escape my wrath. You're a social miscreant who'll stretch out your 15 minutes of fame with seconds ripped from those who should have been spared the knowledge of your existence. You're a spider smashing, book burning, e. coli breeding, overflowing sewer of bitter deeds. You're a shallow opinioned, easily indoctrinated, honey gloved, smoker of oils and plastics. You're a unstable, voteless, bloated apteral vulture. Were I to give you the time of day, I'd cut my own wrists for waisting the time, you spam subscribing, fellowship breaking, patchouli bathing, radiation worshiping, capitulating, bright liveried, song chirling backwind with enough barbed emotional chitin to flense a saint. Do you think I appreciate your presence? Let me say it again: You self-serving, dust mite harboring, loud-haired, grey scalped, moth harvesting, food wasting, preacher of hate, vitriol & publicity-earning smack. You are a harbinger of your own presence. You penny schemed, spineless, formless, fly blowing, vacuous, weak spleened waste of taxpayer education. Do you find yourself a bellwether of nothingness? I do! I will not skip over the fact that I see you as a paint drinking, white bread eating, truster of miracle cures and a wearer of star-spangled underwear. You're a worm handed bedeguar. A turtle buggering, foot-shaving, smog belted, lung shreaking street busker. A half-winded mucous-soaked wretch. A sucker-fingered bile-toothed, producer of toilet destroying bowel movements and a pallbearer of a panaquin of woe. Do you want me to go on?
Leave!
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