Roberta, you’re hot, and not just in that sister of my childhood friend who I used to spy on naked while angrily aggravating my Cumulative Trauma Disorder (CTD, as in, look it up, douchebag), either.

Okay, onto little billy blastoff. A classic case of that spoiled little shitbird, you know, the one we’ve all met at least once in our lives.

Hi Billy! I respect you. Honestly, I do. I mean, you’re what, 55-60 years old, still sporting a ponytail, does the wannabe prison code chickenshit, and yaks guitars all day long. Well, at least we know where we can get some really good shit from now, don’t we? Okay, ya got me. I have more respect for Barney Frank than I do for you. At least Barney admits he’s chugs cock.
Hey, why don’t you have comments on your page? Scared of something? Were you punked in county? How many times? Now I haven’t bothered to skim through your entire page, but what about the prison tats? Come on! Tough guys like you who weigh all of a buck-fifty, soaking wet with five dollars of change in your pockets always have really cool prison tats!

And dude… the pic of you riding the lawnboy? Fucking awesome! If that doen’t get you laid, nothing will. Talk about the first thing I’ll toss out if I ever break down and get a website. Can you seriously picture all the tang that’ll be chasing me if I toss out a pic like that? Of course, you’re probably beating the dirty legs off with a stick as I type.

Like I said, motherfucker. Barney Fucking Frank. You wanna play with the big boys, congrats, you’ve found em.

Oh Billy, you’re welcome.