Pointers are unnecessary. I’m too bull-dogged to woof about a few barks in your corner and I have a beagle eye for nuance. But I’m feeling the need to mark my territory and I’ll show-dog you who’s the alpha wolf of this pack, you whelp. As the rotweiller said to the poodle before she licked his balls: you’re going down, bitch.
You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re barking up the wrong tree. You wood not know nuance if it bit you. You’re putting down roots in flashy showmanship and leaving tasteful wit in the larch. Your puns go against the grain and I will knot stand idly by while you lumber along. Here’s hoping the lesson sticks.
I wooden ax so stiff if were yew, some might think you’re planed board insulting me.
I’m already bored, and I think we’re both guilty of not wanting to quit.
We’re too bores of offenders, mocking together.