Ptf, yeah, that’s what I thought you Egyptian grease stain. Maybe next time you should actually try showing up for the water polo meet. You good for nothing slacker. You ungrateful piece of work. You slimy son of a sea dog good-for-nothing axe-wielding polka dot skirt-wearing sewer-loving icicle-licking too-cool-for-school hand full of sausages doused in gasoline and sautéed with brussel sprouts, limba beans, pickled salmon, egg yolk, cauliflower, prefried beans, tomato paste, Gouda cheese, and uranium with a sprinkle of basil and cayenne pepper, ultimately to be served with rice, goldfish crackers, toasted bagels with cream cheese, hot chocolate, and banana-strawberry-swirl smoothies from Starbuck’s limited edition 2002 Summer Break Sale for 40% off, Buy 1 Get 1 Free and bring a friend. I don’t ever wanna see you in my igloo ever again so you can take your pit bull chihuahua hybrid and drown a couple of salt water fish in Lake Erie on a chilly November morning with your ex-girlfriend from Transylvania and her stylish new 1948 convertible corvette complete with GPS, air conditioning, and seat warmers for your glutes. If you’ve got a problem with that then you can speak to my manager who has been roughly abused in her childhood by her adoptive uncle Marion Gibbler who constantly felt the urge to buy her lollipops and then only give her half—he’d literally break the lollipop in half, vertically—the stick and everything.

He’d typically give the other half to my secretary’s, whose (by the way) name is Shanice Lou Clombergler, adoptive sister, named Roxie Gooberman, who was of African/Indian descent. So stop your standing there and get back to work you ♥♥♥♥♥♥-resembling stocking-selling jellyfish-jam-snorting napkin-manufacturing first-born unattractive, unappealing, unappaling, underwear-wearing werewolf “Where?-ing” warehouse-constructing dump-truck-snuffling duct-tape smuggling carbon-dioxide-huffing one-middle-name-possessing nonimmigrant of a father who probably reads the forth Harry Potter novel in his free time just for kicks and doesn’t share any details with the rest of his family because he’s a greedy, truffle-devouring meaty mud-pie of a man who can’t stand the scent of the summer snow or the winter heat due to his unhealthy obsession with dancing personified milk cartons and PG-rated horror movies featuring male AND female celebrities with British accents and an uncanny resemblance to their co-star thus practically making the two protagonists of the movie out to be twin siblings. Oh boy, does your father get a kick out of that... yes indeed he does.