**No names, please. The point isn’t to fight; it’s to exercise your vocabulary and imagination.
I’ll start things off with a softball:
You, madam, are sheer, unadulterated, puppy-kicking, kitten-raping, mongoose-barbecuing evil. Lex Luthor, upon getting reports of your activities, regularly finds himself shuddering in horror and hiding under the covers until you’re finished. The only reason you have lived so long is that Heaven obviously cannot accept you and Hell fears you’ll stink up the place.
You foul harpy, you putrescent sack of crap, you verminferious fucknugget. You have the social grace of a flaming turd. Your odor and looks aren’t much better. The foul acid spewing out your mouth is only matched by the bile dribbling from your gangrenous cunthole. I’d tell you to fuck off and die but who am I kidding? Nobody is insane enough to fuck you, and death is too easy compared to the lifetime of painful burning anguish that a bitch like you deserves. I hope someday they name a new disease after you, you fucking bitch.
Yeah, I remember that one. It’s a bitch having to follow one of the finest, but here goes:
You conservative. You John-Wayning, cheap damn Robert Mitchum wannabe. You McCain-loving, Palin-lusting, gun-toting Cheney apologist. You’d lick the shoes on John Birch’s dead body and polish them with your eyebrows just to have a chance to smell Rush Limbaugh’s underarm sweat. I swear, you probably masturbate just thinking about Hillary Clinton giving Bill O’Reilley a blow job for five bucks in the alley behind Rupert Murdoch’s office. You have photoshopped nude photos of Ann Coulter riding James Dobson’s rigid dick while Karl Rove flagellates them with shredded copies of the U.S. Constitution. You make me sick!