Going along having a pleasant day, then you show up - and it's like a complete stranger came into my house and threw up in the kitchen.

Why don't you go somewhere else with your stupid fantasties? Why don't you buy a dozen ball bats and go beat on something? Why don't you get rid of that stupid picture of Bogart? I can't see a Bogart movie without thinking of your sorry ass.

It's literally painful to read your stupid, whiny attempts at sarcasm - I can see the bony fingers emanating from your stick-figure arms, your weak, sunken chin and bluish, pasty face highlighted by the phosphors of your monitor, as your cold, reptilian eyes peer out from their hollow sockets - a latter day work of Vermeer - "The Weakling At His Anvil".