I like raping people. Just like Trump. I also enjoy croissants and curdled wet dreams, the kinda dreams that you wake up from and realise you are stuck to your own well earned death bed, simply reading an Aryan post or playing giant Jenga with a fucking dwarf.
Sometimes, when I force myself to read you, I am inspired. Sometimes, I am appalled by the applause you give yourself, Flea and your passion for the fashion that never once obviously included you... or a love that dare not speak its inane.
When will you evolve, and when will you acknowledge that you simply being you, really doesn't cut it any more. Not like you can cut a hooker in a misunderstanding about currency exchange.
I like nearly all of you, but what we do know from your insensitive lackadaisical posting history is that you are all pricks.
Where's the culture, where is the politic of a translucent oneupmanship that never once separated you from the flora and fauna of an arid basin of worthlessness?
I could string some other adjectives together to describe you, yes you, but why would I bother? This subject is far too entertaining for you, and far too taxidermist for me!