Let's have it, custard. Duel you want and my symbolic fist invading your wobbly and creamily delicious transparent face you shall get. Let's see you write your three half-wit replies and then resort to your all-too familiar all-too pathetic "I hate you" tactics. I can smell the tears already. Now is the time to dim the lights in the garage, securely fasten your external braces with generous amounts of duct tape and put on your best yellow frowny face before you touch the keyboard. Now is the time to shine. Just don't hit the keys too hard because you might wake up daddy.
I will leave you humiliated and emotionally devastated, Rongi. And you will
every minute of it.
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