He has a big ass for a man. A steatopygic motherfucker, he is. I wanna kill him and all his pugilistic words. He's afraid of confrontation--he probably cries himself to sleep at night. He smooths his mustache and wiggles his weak chin when he verbally masturbates at the dinner table. I wanna reach across the table and stab him in the eye with my butter knife; see him squeal, his belly undulate when he wiggles on the floor. Knowing him, he might find the need to stop screaming just to say "Ahoy mateys. 'Are you bleeding', you ask? Now, let us all stop for a moment and note the appropriateness with which someone who speaks in heavy rhetoric would ask..."