"In hurry - Always,
Panic - Never"
Maybe "they" haven't learned the mercenary rule
Ach! What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little nazi? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Frankfurt-school,
and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on west-bank, and I have over 6 million in confirmed assests.
I am trained in economical warfare and I’m the top speculator in the entire US market.
You are nothing to me but just another sorce of income. I will empty your accounts with precision 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 spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot.
The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can rob you in over
seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my business-relations. Not only am I extensively trained in ponzi-schemes, but I have access to the entire arsenal of
the Federal Reserve 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 gentile. I will shit debt all over you and you will drown in it.
You’re fucking dead, kiddo.
What now, wool-sack, what mutter thou? Thou fawning fool-born barnacle! I dare thou - draw thy tool, thou worms-meat in respect of a good piece of flesh! I shall shake thy bones out of thy garments, you rotten clay-brained malcontent! You appeareth like a women, and yet your bearded neck forbids't me to interpret that you art so, thou accident of thou whore-mothers trade! Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts! Thou hast liv'd too long - Thou leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, knot-pated, agatering, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, sheep-biting fustilarian! Canst thou believe thy living is a life, whils't living in the rank sweat of thou enseamed bed, and art not clean enough to spit upon,thou fawning elf-skinned scut! Methink'st thou art a general offence and now shall meet thou end.
Thou appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
Good sir. -
It may appear to such a feminine person as your self - that i do not care…
But behind the calm stoic surface of my ubermench face - there is a Raging Storm.