and waits. patiently.

we're all waiting, jeeves…

you know who should never be allowed to write his own poems? john ashberry.

are you still getting people's identities mixed up, grandpa, 'cause if you're still hazy and disoriented from that last concussion, i would hate to smack you upside the head again. might lead to permanent damage.

hahahaha, this dude has it ALL figured out. i'm getting the feeling i might be beating up on an ACTUAL alzheimer's patient.

in a perfect world, you and rammstein would perish in the same bus crash.

speaking of which, this one goes out to dr. nguyen. don't address a real motherfucker by name unless you're prepared to come harder than that. fuck off back into the kitchen and cook up another stew while phil and i run a train on your girlfriend, you fucking chump. and make sure you iron out those "conflicting tastes…

i couldn't give less of a shit about convincing you fucking basement-dwellers about anything. do yo, that's what i say. thing is, though, i lay down my opinion (opeth suck dick by choice) and fucking panties everywhere start twisting. i'm sure that shit is fucking fantastic to listen to when you're leveling up on…

look at this paranoid motherfucker. dude thinks i'm tryin' to switch my shit up when i've put my cock in his mouth repeatedly and with no remorse. if i'm gonna serve you it's gonna say "split7inch" in blue letters above it. if somebody else wants to smack you up for talking shit without the benefit of a fucking clue,…

then fuck off back to your beans and toast and shut the fuck up about shit you're painfully out of your depth in. you're in so far over your head on this dylan thing you need scuba gear.

dude is bored enough to return for a guaranteed fucking beatdown over a topic he was dead-ass wrong about in the first place. sattelite must have gone out in the caravan. right now some public librarian is wondering why that elderly gentleman is weeping into a keyboard.

i knew it, i'm winning you over assraping by assraping. no shame in defeat, you fucking pensioner.

mom, grandpa fell asleep at the keyboard again!

oh, look, nothing to say now. what, you don't hear me now, is that it? alright then, i'll go point for point with you on dylan for $5000 an asskicking. and look, all of a sudden this dude ain't hearing me anymore.

we're waiting, sheepfucker. put down the kebab and step to me with an opinion.

that's a real gem there, pap. sadly for you, until you feel like gathering the mental wherewithal (not to mention the nutsack) to explain to us exactly how deficient and not to your fucking useless standards bob dylan is, the beatings will continue.

keep stalking my fucking posts, citizen, because unlike most of these other dipshits, i stand behind everything i say. "unconcerned" my ass, you stalkerass motherfucker.

think again, polesmoker. you're not gonna "tee-hee" your way out of this one you fucking snaggletoothed fucking runt.

ain't nobody over here talking to you, man. i'm scrawnier than a fucking closed umbrella and will smack the shit out of you without thinking twice. hate on somebody else, dickless.

not even the combined radness of mad men and rockstar games is gonna save you from this firstie.