I guess if you want children beaten, you have to do it yourself. If rubbin’ frozen dirt in your crotch is wrong, hey I don’t wanna be right. Oh, how awful. Did he at least die painlessly? …To shreds, you say. Well, how is his wife holding up? …To shreds, you say. It’s toe-tappingly tragic! Shinier than yours, meatbag. I usually try to keep my sadness pent up inside where it can fester quietly as a mental illness.
Ah, now we see the violence inherent in the system! Well, Mercia’s a temperate zone! I don’t want to talk to you no more, you empty-headed animal food trough water! I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries! Now leave before I am forced to taunt you a second time! You don’t frighten us, English pig-dogs! Go and boil your bottoms, sons of a silly person! I blow my nose at you, so-called Ah-thoor Keeng, you and all your silly English K-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-niggits! Well, I got better. He hasn’t got shit all over him