copy pasta i made

You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. As we
say in Texas, you couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions
printed on the heel. You are a canker, an open wound. I would rather
kiss a lawyer than be seen with you. You took your last vacation in
the Islets of Langerhans.

You're a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little
worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a
cad, and a weasel. I take that back; you are a festering pustule on a
weasel's rump. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench,
a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.

I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same
species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I barf at
the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut.
Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are
a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. You are a technicolor yawn.
And did I mention that you smell?

You are a squeaking rat, a mistake of nature and a heavy-metal bagpipe
player. You were not born. You were hatched into an unwilling world
that rejects the likes of you. You didn't crawl out of a normal egg,
either, but rather a mutant maggot egg rejected by an evil scientist
as being below his low standards. Your alleged parents abandoned you
at birth and then died of shame in recognition of what they had done
to an unsuspecting world. They were a bit late.