<font size=4> Ah, C#3, you insipid, excreitable troglidite! The day has arrived at last! Now I can bitch-slap your worthless,
gullible, brain-dead cadaver all around the BBQ Pit!
Chief Scott! Have you got the tickets for this bout printed up yet?
Ms. Scarlett O’Kellibelli? Could I trouble a grand lady such as yourself for a token, to wear whilst I joust with yon dragon/troll/UFO-peeking psycho?
Ayesha: Break out your cheerleading outfit, babe! This is the state championship & homecoming all rolled up into one!
C#3, you are a modest man , with much to be modest about. A genuine foul-weather fiend, uh, friend; you make Scarface Al look like Handsome Harry. And I assure you that comparing you to an ugly mobster is unfair to hoodlums everywhere.
The inside of your musty head is a exercise wheel; in which two gerbils, Vanity and Credulity by name, tussle fruitlessly over the walnut that represents your banal & pointless existance.
You are haunted by images of Phantom Kangaroos, Little Green Men & Chupacurras.
You obsess constantly about The Men In Black hiding the Loch Ness Monster in your toilet tank, as the Tidy-Bowl may irritate your buttocks.
Your alleged virtues have done more harm in the world than the vices of millions.
And Unca Cecil always liked me best!(That’s why I’m in the will.)
I have thrown down my challenge! Reply , if you dare, you hooligan!</font>
We have met the enemy, and He is Us.–Walt Kelly