Starting a thread devoted to saying nice things about Crow didn't seem to work, so I thought: come on, it's xmas and he must be feeling lonely, let's pull out all the stops and throw a proper office party.
Made the place look nice, picked out a few bangin choons from my private stash, Newyorkbrad even dressed as his fursona Amanda Rin and tried moonwalking on the photocopier.
And then there's Crow, sat in the corner with a cob on, muttering to himself about Drmies for the ten-thousandth time, visible smell-lines emanating from his jizz-encrusted jeans.
Hey dickhead.
Not everyone is as stupid as your Wikipediocracy home boyz.
There's clearly only one person here who was genuinely concerned the other might be lonely. But a point for effort in hoping people wouldn't notice. Stop being such a lazy cock, and get your own attack lines. Stealing them from other people is lame, but stealing them from your nemesis, is downright embarrassing.
And fuck me, you are proper lonely. I can't even imagine how friendless you need to be, including online, for you to be thinking that thanking fifty posts of mine is a fun way to spend your time. It's fun marking them as read. But it is, sadly, an all too brief moment of joy.
You are boring is what it is, Micheal. You throw a shit party.
Your insults have no ..... style. You got now flow. There is no groove.
Me, this shit comes natural. Not for the Crow, desperately scrabbling around probing for weaknesses. He knows his targets. I see you, Micheal.
If you had the first clue what I was doing this afternoon, while you were picturing your next post, well, I think your head really would have exloded. In more ways than one.
But I am a cruel man. I shall not let you into the world of the three dimensional people, for whom this time of year is pretty fucking amazing. They could cancel Christmas tomorrow, and I'd be fine with that, the afternoon I've had.
Stick to what you know. A dirty little racist, an online weirdo with no real purpose and whose biggest cheerleader today is a conspiracy theorist, hammering away at a keyboard, trying to distract himself from the fact he has an ever shorter lifespan and not a lot to show for it. The ambiguity there can probably be left in, I am guessing.
I know where this despair is coming from, Micheal. 'Tis the season when the themes of a lot of movies focus on acts of reflection. Taking account of one's life
What a horrible time of year in the Cockram household. I do hope your mam doesn't pick this year to finally do herself in. But if she does, well, you have at least got Vigilant to offer tea and sympathy. A fucking American who doesn't know a damn thing about you and has most assuredly never had a nice cup of tea and a sit down in his life, the fucking heathen.
You need me Micheal. Someone who, well, doesn't exactly care, but at least understands your pain.