Mats, Mats, Mats, Mats, Mats.

Dear Sir,
_____Wouldn't you like my a chockful of kiss-assing to
go along with that fake accent? Are you shore?

Well, you damn fake bastard/bitch, I can be damn shore
that I'll be stabbing you if you continue with that fake
accent roight?

You damn fake bastards.

Why not try that accent again when you've learnt how
to spell commitment? Instead of committiment. Why,
do you feel you have to make up for your inadequacies
with your underaged trysts, resulting in teenaged
pregnancies, resulting in populating this fine country
with more scum that'll emulate your foundation caked face?

Why even bother to continue your measly existance when
you're not going to strive to achieve to the best of your
abilities?
'Studying's not my thing, yo.'

My god, then what is?
Being that speck of dirt for me to crush is?


You fake bastards.


I'd continue ranting if I didn't have to work.
Bastards.