There's a fucking frog in the foto, faggot!
I'd stick my dick in her smegma within the folds of her beautiful belly!
What the fuck did you just fucking say about us, you little bitch?
I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in Baker's Skool and I’ve been involved in
numerous secret bakes on Al-Quitchen. I have over 300 confirmed breads. I am trained in guerrilla
dough mixing and I’m the top kneader in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but
just another hot cross bun. I will wipe you the fuck out with my spatula and whisk the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words.
You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker.
As we speak I am contacting my secret network of apple pie cooks across the USA and your IP is
being traced right now so you better prepare for the mixing bowl, maggot. The mixing bowl that wipes
out the pathetic little thing you call your tastebuds. You’re fucking baked, kid. I can be anywhere,
anytime, and I can bake over seven hundred ways and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I
extensively trained in unarmed dough kneading, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United
Bakers and Donut Makers Union and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the
face of the continent, you little shit.
If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring
down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now
you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit flour, water, yeast, raisins and a pinch of salt all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo.