TirithRR the Eccentric wrote:
I'm crying for the cows.
Wait, no I'm not, I'm eating my nice thick, tasty, porterhouse steak.
Yeah? How much are you going to enjoy it when I turn up to your house with a fine bottle of Scotch in one hand and an amateur proctology kit in the other? When I strap you down and shove the bottle up your ar
se, letting that fine single malt pour into your ******, how will you be doing then? What about when I come back, days later, and start pistoning the glass in and out, in and out, letting the necrotic sludge of putrefied flesh lubricate its passage, mixed up as it is in a cocktail of blood, pus and liquefied ****? HOW THE FU
CK WILL YOU BE DOING THEN, YOU FAT, AMERICAN FU
CKER? HOW WILL YOU BE MOTHER-FUC
KIN' DOIN' THEN? GOOD? WILL IT BE GOOD, YOU SHI
T? WILL IT BE GOOD FOR YOU?
Disclaimer: The above is meant only as an expression of my overwhelming rage, having been expertly trolled by an eminent witticism. I intend no physical harm to Tirith, and certainly have no intention to sexually assault him with a bottle of fine single malt whisky, especially not from the fine folks at Old Pulteney, mmm, taste the Highlands.