I have seen skeet with more sense than you have. If cluelessness were crude oil, your scalp would be crawling with caribou. 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. Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attempting to impress us with your insight. Your alleged parents abandoned you at birth and then died of shame in recognition of what they had done to an unsuspecting world. 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. You were hatched into an unwilling world that rejects the likes of you. You are a squeaking rat, a mistake of nature and a heavy-metal bagpipe player. You are a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon. I take that back you are a festering pustule on a weasel’s rump. You are a spineless little worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt.
You’re a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You took your last vacation in the Islets of Langerhans. I would rather kiss a lawyer than be seen with you. As we say in Texas, you couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions printed on the heel.
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