A poor, poor, pitiful late stage ELEVENTYFOUR Parkinson’s patient who can’t walk unassisted or go outside when the temperatures dip into the brisk forties, who couldn’t possibly hurt anyone as weak as it is, unless it’s using its magic hand to cripple people it can’t catch as it shuffles along into courtrooms in its rolly-walker at the blistering pace of 10 feet per minute, who could catch a turtle that wasn’t chained down?
What’s a DUMBFUCK gonna do?
Send its sister after me?
Ain’t it ruff. Ain’t it tuff. Ain’t it got the baddest stuff?
Before it calls her out, it should be sure to remind her that my personal two-tiered home security system, which is controlled from a locked box in the bedroom and another in the hall closet, is entirely gender neutral.
And girl braaaaaaaaaaains are tasty.