What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little Catholic? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in Leiden, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Dunkirk, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in Dutch warfare and I’m the best pikeman in the entire Dutch States Army. You are nothing to me but just another Spaniard. I will wipe you the fuck out with tulips the likes of which has never smelled seen before in this Republic, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with spreading this shit to me in Brussels? Think again, varkensneuker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of stadhouders across the Nederland and your churches are being burnt right now so you better prepare for the beeldenstorm, Beftekkel . The storm that wipes out the pathetic little denomination you call your faith. You’re fucking dead, Spaniard. I can trade anywhere, anytime, and I can bankrupt you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with seven provinces. Not only am I extensively trained in line warfare, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United Provinces States Army and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable empire off the face of Iberia, you little schijt. If only you could have known what holy revolt your little “clever” Duke was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn Pope lover. I will shit windmills all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, strontjoch.