AKA the Insult Game.
Retort to the previous poster’s witty quip with a witty comeback, and then direct and insult at the next poster. Soon you too can master the art of witty banter and becomes as gods like Elan or Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate™!
Example:
A: You fight like a dairy farmer!
B: How appropriate, you fight like a cow!
I’ve found fungus wittier than you!
Your personal hygiene must be as bad as they say.
If idiots could fly, you’d be in high orbit.
I Can’t hear you from Earth, try coming back from Andromeda.
Your father was a hamster and your mother smells of elderberries.
ouch, double post, ignore.
At least I had a mother.
Your continued existence is a disproof of the theory of natural selection.
Yet you’re the living proof of it : no intelligent creator could ever blunder so badly.
But if gods exist, the one who breathed life into you must’ve had halitosis.
Hell, at least mine wasn’t blind.
Is that your face, or did your neck throw up?
It is my great good fortune to have a neck, O muse of Tennessee Williams.
Is it true that H.R. Giger got his start doing your family portrait?
Oh yeah, well an alien would take a day and a half to eat it’s way out of that beer belly of yours.
Are you really that dumb, or is this some sort of performance art?
If stupidity is to be considered an art, you could be this century’s Da Vinci.
A candler would get rich, working with all that blubber of yours.
As would a vintner who could bottle a tenth of the whine you produce.
You must be very flexible. Your breath smells like feet and ass!
That’s funny, cause my foot’s about to smell like your ass when I get done kickin’ it.
I’d get into a battle of wits with you, but I don’t want to fight an unarmed man.
I don’t need arms to beat you because when comes to arguments, you don’t have a leg to stand on. (You’ll always come up short).
God must have smiled when he made you because you’re the world’s biggest piece of shit.
Better a piece of dung excreted from the Divine anus than a … git
You’re the worst cook in the entire world. There are amoeba on Saturn who can boil a better egg than you. Your Filet Mignon in sauce Bernaise look like dog-turds in glue.
At least I don’t think that taking the tuna out of the can constitutes fine dinning.
I’d buy you a map but there doesn’t seem to have been any direction in your life up to this point.
I didn’t need direction until you came along. The only good direction is away from your ugly face and shrill voice.
A flea market, plus K-Mart, plus Phyllis Diller, minus rational thought would still create an outfit more tasteful and understated than anything you wear.
Nice equation there, Gianni Verhawking. You meet a lot of girls in fashion math club?
If your face and my ass were in a beauty contest, the crowd would jump to their feet and shout “Hurray for the one-eyed man!”
Possibly - but that’s only because your ass would occupy so much of the stage…
You have the social grace of a rampaging elephant and the wit of a sponge.
You don’t have the social grace of a rampaging elephant or the wit of a sponge.
At least I can follow directions, Ghostface Threadkilla.
Your mother is so dumb she thought deem and pass was crack pipe etiquette.