Suck the balls of a syphilitic shit-eating monkey, you simian piece of festering effluvium.
You have my command to ram a leaking can of castor oil up your ass sideways.
Yes, I’m talking to you, you who insist on keeping your brights on as you follow me into and through town tonight. You who have a solitary neuron, swimming alone in the festering cerebrospinal fluid filling the expanded sinus you call a skull. You who have disregarded the lights placed out by the city, bright mercury vapor lamps which obviate the need for Sunrise on Mercury headlamps, and instead choose to blast my retina with a pure white light.
You who are sending ice picks into my optic nerves, inch by inch, millimeter by millimeter, begging me to turn around and redefine pain in terms of pounds of rocks shoved into your lower large intestine.
Certain people in this world deserve tabasco high colonics. Take the next turn-off and you will barely rise to their level.
apo: I doubt anything short of the Second Coming would have registered with this Confirmed Twatrash. His mental processes barely met the level of `ooh… light!’
I have a feeling this Shitguzzling Choadsniffer would gladly walk out of the crapper with monstrous clingons holding on to his brainstem for dear life. He uses his IQ Quota for the year by watching an episode of Wheel of Fortune, and he thinks Jerry Springer is deep, heavy literature.
He’s the kind of shit Klanmembers and Scientologists hold up as a cautionary tale.