You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. As we
say in Texas, you couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions
printed on the heel. You are a canker, an open wound. I would rather
kiss a lawyer than be seen with you. You took your last vacation in
the Islets of Langerhans.
You're a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little
worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a
cad, and a weasel. I take that back; you are a festering pustule on a
weasel's rump. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench,
a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.
I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same
species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I barf at
the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut.
Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are
a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. You are a technicolor yawn.
And did I mention that you smell?
You are a squeaking rat, a mistake of nature and a heavy-metal bagpipe
player. You were not born. You were hatched into an unwilling world
that rejects the likes of you. You didn't crawl out of a normal egg,
either, but rather a mutant maggot egg rejected by an evil scientist
as being below his low standards. Your alleged parents abandoned you
at birth and then died of shame in recognition of what they had done
to an unsuspecting world. They were a bit late.
Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attempting
to impress us with your insight. The evidence that you are a
nincompoop will still be available to readers, but they will be able
to access it ever so much more rapidly. If cluelessness were crude
oil, your scalp would be crawling with caribou.
You are a thick-headed trog. I have seen skeet with more sense than
you have. You are a few bricks short of a full load, a few cards short
of a full deck, a few bytes short of a full core dump, and a few
chromosomes short of a full human. Worse than that, you top-post. God
created houseflies, cockroaches, maggots, mosquitos, fleas, ticks,
slugs, leeches, and intestinal parasites, then he lowered his
standards and made you. I take it back; God didn't make you. You are
Satan's spawn. You are Evil beyond comprehension, half-living in the
slough of despair. You are the entropy which will claim us all. You
are a green-nostriled, crossed eyed, hairy-livered inbred
trout-defiler. You make Ebola look good.
You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid,
nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You're a fool, an
ignoramus. Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won't have sex with
you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in
a land that reality forgot. You are not ANSI compliant and your markup
doesn't validate. You have a couple of address lines shorted together.
You should be promoted to Engineering Manager.
Do you really expect your delusional and incoherent ramblings to be
read? Everyone plonked you long ago. Do you fantasize that your
tantrums and conniption fits could possibly be worth the $0.000000001
worth of electricity used to send them? Your life is one big
W.O.M.B.A.T. and your future doesn't look promising either. We need to
trace your bloodline and terminate all siblings and cousins in order
to cleanse humanity of your polluted genes. The good news is that no
normal human would ever mate with you, so we won't have to go into the
sewers in search of your git.
You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and
obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living
emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a
loathsome disease, a drooling inbred cross-eyed toesucker. You make
Quakers shout and strike Pentecostals silent. You have a version 1.0
mind in a version 6.12 world. Your mother had to tie a pork chop
around your neck just to get your dog to play with you. You think
that is the name of a rock band. You believe that P.D.Q. Bach is the greatest composer who
ever lived. You prefer L. Ron Hubbard to Larry Niven and Jerry
Pournelle. Hee-Haw is too deep for you. You would watch test patterns
all day if the other inmates would let you.
On a good day you're a half-wit. You remind me of drool. You are
deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality of
wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted.
Spammers look down on you. Phone sex operators hang up on you.
Telemarketers refuse to be seen in public with you. You are the source
of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go.
May you choke on your own foolish opinions. You are a Pusillanimous
galactophage and you wear your sister's training bra. Don't bother
opening the door when you leave - you should be able to slime your
way out underneath. I hope that when you get home your mother runs
out from under the porch and bites you.
You smarmy lagerlout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock.
You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john. You clouted
boggish foot-licking half-twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You
gormless crook-pated tosser. You bloody churlish boil-brained clotpole
ponce. You craven dewberry pisshead cockup pratting naff. You cockered
bum-bailey poofter. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You
dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill. May your
spouse be blessed with many bastards.
You are so clueless that if you dressed in a clue skin, doused yourself
in clue musk, and did the clue dance in the middle of a field of horny
clues at the height of clue mating season, you still would not have a
clue. If you were a movie you would be a double feature;
_Battlefield_Earth_ and _Moron_Movies_II_. You would be out of focus.
You are a fiend and a sniveling coward, and you have bad breath. You
are the unholy spawn of a bandy-legged hobo and a syphilitic camel.
You wear strangely mismatched clothing with oddly placed stains. You
are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just knowing that
you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go
away. You are jetsam who dreams of becoming flotsam. You won't make
it. I beg for sweet death to come and remove me from a world which
became unbearable when you crawled out of a harpy's lair.
It is hard to believe how incredibly stupid you are. Stupid as a stone
that the other stones make fun of. So stupid that you have traveled
far beyond stupid as we know it and into a new dimension of stupid.
Meta-stupid. Stupid cubed. Trans-stupid stupid. Stupid collapsed to
a singularity where even the stupons have collapsed into stuponium.
Stupid so dense that no intelligence can escape. Singularity stupid.
Blazing hot summer day on Mercury stupid. You emit more stupid in one
minute than our entire galaxy emits in a year. Quasar stupid. It cannot
be possible that anything in our universe can really be this stupid.
This is a primordial fragment from the original big stupid bang. A pure
extract of stupid with absolute stupid purity. Stupid beyond the laws
of nature. I must apologize. I can't go on. This is my epiphany of
stupid. After this experience, you may not hear from me for a while.
I don't think that I can summon the strength left to mock your moronic
opinions and malformed comments about boring trivia or your other
The only thing worse than your logic is your manners. I have snipped
away most of your of what you wrote, because, well ... it didn't
really say anything. Your attempt at constructing a creative flame was
pitiful. I mean, really, stringing together a bunch of insults among a
load of babbling was hardly effective... Maybe later in life, after
you have learned to read, write, spell, and count, you will have more
success. True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal"
people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering.
But we sometimes forget that there are "challenged" persons in this
world who find these things to be difficult. If I had known that this
was true in your case then I would have never have exposed myself to
what you wrote. It just wouldn't have been "right." Sort of like
parking in a handicap space. I wish you the best of luck in the
emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing such a
demand on you.