::Ender cracks his knuckles::
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ender. You, however, can only call me Master. I shall be your Dominatrix and you shall be my bitch. There is no safeword.
I’m not going to try to use small words so if you’d like to call all your friends to mash those .00002 ounces of gray matter together so you understand what I’m saying, by all means get on the telephone now.
I can’t quite tell whether you’re an aborted fetus, swimming in a vat of formaldehyde, trying desperately to pose as a prepubescent boy, or an outcast from the reject pile of the Springer show guests. The one who dresses in tutus while fucking pregnant goats. Either way you are of no consequence to me. You are not fit to lick the scum of my great great grandmother’s crotch.
I have what we of the non mouth-breathing version of society call an opinion. I, with the far superior intellect and reasoning skills, have an informed opinion that is far superior and much more reasoning than yours. Why? Because, you maggot filled pustule, I do not insult people who disagree with me at random. My insults are not randomized, but directed specifically towards you, you sloping browed, lobotomized 3 toed sloth.
You shame all the fucking dumbasses of the world by continuing to consider yourself a member of their group. I would kick your ass with a spiked, steel toed boot if I thought you understood the concept of toilet paper. Instead, I will ask you, quite kindly, to drink a gallon of gasoline and pray that it jump starts your second brain cell.
Until then, may Cecil have mercy on your soul.