Dude, I thought you were shrewd…
Well, I am
shrew'd. There's a difference, but not a whole lot. Anyway, why so many goddam pistachios in your French onion soup? At this point you're so goddam salty you're about liable to start attracting stray
deer. I'm about fed up to the nines with this trash-talk. I have an actual life, People, and someone put it on hold just so I could watch you all make yourselves look abhhorrently stupid.
Not gonna lie, this works out well for my plans. Nevertheless, this is my Kennedy/Bay_of_Pigs moment. Fuck you fuckers. I've had it. That's it. Gloves are
off. I'm running for President, just as soon as I am exonerated at trial, or, I get to go to sleep with that teddy bear from Spielberg's A.I., whatever it takes to come first. I'm down. I'm game.
But first; washing and conditioning AND BLOW DRYING MY HAIR, MOTHER FUCK BUCKET MOTHER FUCKER! I'm not even gonna click you, I'm just gonna obsessively refresh... it's the closest I can get to stalking now.