Hey where are you mr maniac? Was kinda thinking about you.
Drown yourself you worthless rot. If you ever insult me again and think you're going to get away with, you better just find a fucking gun and shove it up your ass because it'll be a quicker way of dying than what I'm going to fucking put you through you waste of oxygen.
This feels like opening a birthday present! I already like you.
What are you going to fucking put me through?
Also I am armed and dangerous.
Gustave Moreau. The Apparition. 1876. Oil on Canvas. Post-Impressionism.