I’ll fight you. I’ll fight you hard. And when I’m chewing on your ear cartilage, knuckles bloody and nose broken, I’ll be laughing. Because this is fun for me. Now pause for a minute, and think to yourself – what kind of shit is going to come out of your fat mouth now, and how is that going taste with busted lips? It’ll be sweet for me, and not no Splenda-sweet bullshit that’s not fullfiling… I’m going to live on it, it’ll feed me and I’ll want more, because the glucose is going to hit my blood stream with a sugar high of such infamy that it would be a banned substance had the pharmacies put it in a pill. Not just adrenaline, punk, this would be bottled rage, with my teeth grinding into your appendages like chewing gum, I will eat your soul, eviscerate the entire memory of your being from the worlds collective conscious. You’ll be at the Pearly gates, and St. Pete won’t have you on either of his lists… God himself won’t remember you, the Devil won’t even want you. No forgiveness, no punishment – you’ll just disappear. You ready for that old man? Because I am. Now lift your hand, hit that reply button. I dare you. I’m waiting for you.