Sue, this will sound better than what your ex said, until you get to the translation:
SED INCITAT ME PECTUS ET MAMMAE PUTRES, EQUINA QUALES UBERA, VENTERQUE MOLLIS ET FEMUR TUMENTIBUS EXILE SURUS ADDITUM. But of course what really gets me going about you is those dirty dugs hanging off your chest, like the nipples of an old nag, your spongy belly, and those wasted thighs atop your bulbous legs. Horace, Epode 8
DPR, I only have your email for a real name and I guessed at the grammar for it, but here goes:
ANTONE, QUOD SOLIUM SUBLUTO PODICE PERDIS, SPURCIUS UT FIAT, ANTONE, MERGE CAPUT. Anthony, you ruin the bath by rinsing your rear end in it, but if you really want to insult it, Anthony, stick your head in it. Martial, Epigrams II.42
Dear, sweet, Purplebear, how could I possibly insult you? Here’s how:
FIANT ABSENTES ET TIBI, URSA, COMAE, NEC DENTES ALITER QUAM SERICA NOCTE REPONAS, ET IACEAS CENTUM CONDITA PYXIDIBUS, NEC TECUM FACIES TUA DORMIAT. Your hair’s original owner was someone else’s head, Bear, and at night you put aside your teeth just like you put aside your silks. You lie, dismantled, in a hundred different boxes. Your face does not sleep with you. Martial, Epigrams IX.37
Mr Bear, I don’t know much about you, but this is what your wife told me:
MEDIISQUE IN NARIBUS INGENS GIBBUS ET ACRE MALUM SEMPER STILLANTIS OCELLI. He had a huge carbuncle in the middle of his mug and an acrid ooze of nastiness always dribbling from his left eye. Juvenal, Satire 6
Gunslinger, for sleeping when you should have been learning something useless:
NUNC SUNT CRURA PILIS ET SUNT TIBI PECTORA SAETIS HORRIDA, SED MENS EST, JUSTINE, VULSA TIBI. As it is, your legs are bristling with hair and your chest is a deep-shag rug, but your mind, Justin, has been plucked smooth. Martial, Epigrams II.36
Matt, a special one just for you. As usual, I guessed on the name. Feel free to correct me (as you always do <sniff>):
ODI TE QUIA BELLUS ES, MATTE. RES EST PUTIDA BELLUS; ET MATTE. BELLUM DENIQUE MALO QUAM MATTUM. TABESCAS UTNAM, MATTE, BELLE! I hate you because you are a pretty-boy, Matt. In my book, prettiness is a dirty word. And so is Matt. I prefer war to Matt. Matt, go to hell! (Prettily.) Martial, Epigrams XII.39
Ain’t that Martial a bitch?
