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Come on, man up, admit it. Which one o' you blokes did this to me?
What part of "I have more stogies than I do stogie storage space" do you not understand? What have I ever done to you to make you hate me so? Alls I ever did was make fun of the way you talk and spe(u)el (okay, and maybe the bit about the bad teeth [and also possibly the propensity for dressing up as old women {and p'raps even the obsession with the Royal Family}]).
And, as if bombing me wasn't enough, you don't have the temerity to own up to it; you have to do it anonymously? No return address. No note. No incriminating pictures. Only a chicken scratch on the customs form.
Welp, let me tell you, my "friend," although that indecipherable signature may well decrypt as "B. Mussolini," it matters not, because you have chosen to target the wrong fucking bloke!
I have means, y'know. Even as we speak (type/read), I have submitted your fragmentary evidential debris for analysis to the crack NASA Sooper-Sekrit "We Can Track a Gnat's Fart" Sleuthing Squad and Combination Fall of Rome Mime Troupe. Using state-of-the-art fingerprint detection methods, handwriting analysis, and techniques which -- if I even intimated, would necessitate the destruction of an entire village in Djibouti -- are even able to deduce information from things that don't exist, I will soon have not only your full identity, but your family tree (back to when your family was still climbing trees), what you et for breakfast, and where you hide your llama porn.
So, best to save you and your family all the public exposure and embarrassment and come clean here amongst your BOTL's who will undoubtedly offer you high fives, encouraging missives of congratulations, and sycophantic messages of "Nice bombing," "Good show," "Stout fellow," and "There's one up the arse, eh?"
Okay. So. I'm waiting.................
What part of "I have more stogies than I do stogie storage space" do you not understand? What have I ever done to you to make you hate me so? Alls I ever did was make fun of the way you talk and spe(u)el (okay, and maybe the bit about the bad teeth [and also possibly the propensity for dressing up as old women {and p'raps even the obsession with the Royal Family}]).
And, as if bombing me wasn't enough, you don't have the temerity to own up to it; you have to do it anonymously? No return address. No note. No incriminating pictures. Only a chicken scratch on the customs form.
Welp, let me tell you, my "friend," although that indecipherable signature may well decrypt as "B. Mussolini," it matters not, because you have chosen to target the wrong fucking bloke!
I have means, y'know. Even as we speak (type/read), I have submitted your fragmentary evidential debris for analysis to the crack NASA Sooper-Sekrit "We Can Track a Gnat's Fart" Sleuthing Squad and Combination Fall of Rome Mime Troupe. Using state-of-the-art fingerprint detection methods, handwriting analysis, and techniques which -- if I even intimated, would necessitate the destruction of an entire village in Djibouti -- are even able to deduce information from things that don't exist, I will soon have not only your full identity, but your family tree (back to when your family was still climbing trees), what you et for breakfast, and where you hide your llama porn.
So, best to save you and your family all the public exposure and embarrassment and come clean here amongst your BOTL's who will undoubtedly offer you high fives, encouraging missives of congratulations, and sycophantic messages of "Nice bombing," "Good show," "Stout fellow," and "There's one up the arse, eh?"
Okay. So. I'm waiting.................
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