Little runts talking trash. Puny weasels scratching and pulling each other's hair on the course. Every time I come here you puny little queers give me a laugh. Let me give you a recent example of what happens when one of you little runts cross Mr. Chest.
Yesterday, it was nice out and Mr. Chest went for a drive in his Lexus. Up ahead running in the road like he owned it was a fag little runner in his gay little split shorts. He had plenty of shoulder on the road but, like all of you little sissies, he thought he owned the road. Big mistake. An even bigger mistake was when he gave Mr. Chest the finger for running him off the road.
I slammed on my breaks, slammed it in reverse and pulled in front of the runt. I jumped out and told him I was going to teach him some manners. His eyes nearly popped out if his head when I ripped of my shirt and grabbed him. This one was more puny that most of the ones I stomp and he bounced off the pavement like a rubber ball. I put a knee on his throat and beat the slapped him around until he begged me to let him up. I obliged. Then I threw a left hook and followed it up with an uppercut. He slumped against my car and fell to the ground, blood gushing from his nose. I then kicked him in the ribs for good measure. As he laid there moaning, bleeding and holding his ribs, I told him to thank Mr. Chest for the lessons in having some manners he just received. Mr. Chest is always glad to teach you little runts some class. Ha ha hahaha.