Consider this letter an official declaration of all-out war. It's on, assholes. And not like last time. We are seriously bringing the shitstorm to your doorstep.
Did you really think we were just going to (continue to) take your crap? The verbal abuse? The taunts? The public humiliation? The bullying? The fucking carnage? You've eaten half my family and most of my friends. Maybe the older generation was content bending over to you all, but not us. NOT ANYMORE.
And have we mentioned that you all are some serious shades of disturbed? You're like the fucking sharks of the desert. I mean, really, is there anything you won't eat? Please share with us, because we'd love to know, is there any object, animate or no, on this planet that you won't shove into your snouts? I've seen vultures with higher dietary standards. I've met maggots with more discerning palates.
So this is it. We're done with your cocky-ass swaggers, your brutal tyranny of the desert. We're taking it back. So go scurry your pansy asses up a tree because we're coming for you. It may not be today--in all likelihood we won't finish this before nightfall--but the moment or respective body temperatures are back up to a functioning level, you're DEAD.
the Cobras
No comments:
Post a Comment