Ask the Misanthrope

Or don’t ask. I could hardly care less, ya loada wankers.

ok

OK what, ya little pissant? Jesus jumped-up Christ in a chariot, that’s all I get around here. All you people–ALL YOU PEOPLE–don’t have th’ brains to give a clear answer to a simple question. Do you wanna ask a question, or doncha?

Stop it your scarin me

Ahh, shuddup. All of ya!

That’s the first thread heading I’ve laughed at in a long time. Way to go Misanthrope! Like you care.

Feh! Flattery will get you nowhere. You’re all against me, I KNOW it.

What kind of woman a misanthrope likes?

Bah! What do you know?
If I were a misanthrope, I wouldn’t want a buncha wankers asking me a buncha junk no-one really cares about anyway…

Wimmen? Feh, don’t get me started. They’re all either after my money or after my body. Not a durn one of them cares about what’s really important. That’s right–keeping a good pair of child-bearin’ hips on her so as to better enable me to sire a heir to my realm. I look in the magazines these days, and everryunothem looks like a dadgum stick figure–not a good pair o’ child-bearin’ hips to be seen. The only one I do see is on that babe Rosie O’Donnell, but damn if that woman ain’t got a mouth.

That answer yer question? I don’t give a damn.

Why didn’t you leave when you said you would?

Eh? You gotta speak up, sonny. Or go flap yer gums somewhere else, see if I give a rat’s ass.

:::slaps forehead:::

DUH!