In this thread, Tamerlane finally steps over the line.
No more Mr. Nice Guy, buddy-boy. I’m toasting you to a rich golden brown, with crispy edges and sauce on the side.
You have no fashion sense. You wear plaids and stripes together, and your socks are inside out. Even when you dress up in women’s clothes, the bra and panties don’t match, and you wear white shoes after Memorial Day.
You don’t replace the toilet paper after you used up a roll, and yesterday you didn’t pick up after your dog. You use up the last of the ice cubes, and put the empty tray back in the freezer. You distribute images of professional golf without the written permission of the PGA.
You’re a lousy tipper. You take the biggest brownie, and drink the last of the coffee without making another pot. You pursue a non-standard, dissolute lifestyle of libertine indulgence. You touch your own naughty bits, and encourage others to do the same.
You put your elbows on the table, don’t sit up straight, and slam the door on your way out. You pick your nose while driving next to me on the freeway, and listen to NPR without ever making a contribution.
You don’t write to your mother, and you covet your neighbor’s ass.
It’s people like you that make me ashamed to be a small-minded, short-penised, dog-raping pervert.
So how do you like them apples, Mr. Smarty-Pants, Never-Been-Pitted, Cult Leader?
Regards,
Shodan
