What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little child? I'll have you know I ran top of my class in a Brewers sanctioned Half Marathon, and I've been involved in numerous knife fights, and I have over 5 confirmed staklers. I am trained in literary warfare and I'm the top wordsmith in the entire Science Fiction Writers Association. You are nothing to me but just another stlaker. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision reparté the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my legal team of gay wine attorneys across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, baby infant child. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fucking dead, sweatie. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to an entire arsenal of pistol calibre carbines and a handgun whose ammo I can no longer afford, and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you sweet summer child. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" comment 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 idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're fucking dead, kiddo.