- last post: 01.01.0001 12:00 AM PDT
Technically, you're a man. Technically, so is a she-male Ladyboy from Thailand. In reality, you're nothing more than a pitiful gin-sodden excuse for anything other than a rancid -blam!-weasle! Celibate, eh? You mean in the closet, right? Or maybe you're a homo-blam!- midget: in which case, you're in the cupboard! Who the hell told you that you are attractive? Mr. Magoo? You're the kind pathological liar who even lies to an insult generator. You're a politically vacillating phony liberal -blam!-; too damn broadminded to take your own side in a debate. Like your height, everything about you is average; except your stench - which is overwhelming. Your weight may well be proportional, but you've got cellulite that makes sumo wrestlers look anorexic. Professional, my ass. You couldn't win a cigar after giving birth in a tobacco field in Havana, you clueless, über-incompetent -blam!-wit. That's a sexy outfit you're wearing. Who shot the couch? What you are - besides a pitiable little carnival freak - is a watery bowel movement bubbling back up to the surface after a pregnant water buffalo farts in a muddy river.