Fuck you, Texas lawmakers

By now I’m sure many of us have heard about this travesty of justice, in which a Texas man was found not guilty of murdering an escort. Under Texas law, a person is justified in the use of deadly force to recover property stolen as part of a nighttime theft—in this case, the theft of $150 that the escort allegedly took from the defendant. This is just one of the many What the Fuck laws on the books in the Lone Star State. Hence, the rant that follows…

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So Ezekiel Gilbert has been acquitted. Phew, you boys must be so relieved. How tragic it would have been to incarcerate a perfectly good white man merely for the cold-blooded murder of a woman…a non-white woman who was working as an escort. Interestingly, another Texas man, who happens to be black, was sentenced to 50 years in prison for possession of a knife and stealing a $35 rack of ribs. Yes, the guy was a repeat criminal, but the key takeaway here is that a misdemeanor involving a dead cow or pig is far more of a heinous crime than the murder of a woman, right? I mean, who cares about human decency?

See, I’ve noticed that what’s really important to you folks is the legality of protecting your property by shooting to kill. Like that theft law, and your “Castle Doctrine” law that allows Texas residents to shoot intruders. But I have news for you: those laws? Not helping. Texas was #2 in the United States last year in the number of car thefts, overall property theft, AND burglary. So tell me again about how gun ownership deters crime. How’s that working out for you, dickwads?

Seriously, assholes, fuck you. You already had some of the loosest gun laws in the country, to the delight of many gun nuts with itchy trigger fingers. But as of last month, you relaxed your gun laws even further. Well done. What’s next, giving each baby in Texas a Fisher Price My First Shotgun?

None of this should really surprise me; you draconian sons of bitches have never really had any use for anyone who isn’t a white, gun-toting, Christian, heterosexual male. You know the updated Violence Against Women Act that Obama signed into law a few months ago? Twenty-two senators voted against the act. Guess which state’s senators were among them? That’s right, yours. Both of them. I suppose that’s fitting, given that the incidence of violence against women is pretty damned high in Texas. You certainly wouldn’t want to do anything to curb that, would you. Texas ranked second in the country last year in the number of rapes. And in 2011, Texas ranked second in the number of calls to the National Domestic Violence Hotline. Evidently you’re okay with that.

I’m not the only one who thinks you’re insane, by the way. Here’s a little article from Forbes magazine, in which one of your own citizens cuts you to pieces. Reading it warmed the cockles of my heart, but reading this one filled me with the greatest joy. Looks like a bunch of people have your number. Too bad they don’t all have the power to vote you out of office and make sure you never, ever return, you evil fucks.

Then there’s your governor, Rick Perry, who has a smile that makes my blood run cold. Rick, it’s obvious that you’re waging a war against women, gay people, and probably everyone else who doesn’t fit into your bizarre world view. You’ve signed legislation to close abortion clinics all over Texas, and in the few places where abortions are still allowed, you’ve signed another law that forces women to undergo ultrasounds before they terminate their pregnancies. You’ve expressed your disapproval of the Boy Scouts’ decision to allow gay scouts and in a stunning display of what I can only describe as chutzpah, you even likened being anti-gay to being anti-slavery. You opposed the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, and I assume you won’t be signing any laws allowing same-sex marriage. When karma finds you, I hope it takes the form of a gay, black, Muslim woman, and I hope she makes your life a living hell. It will be good practice for when you reach your Final Destination.

There are other states swarming with fucked-up politicians—South Carolina and Arizona come to mind almost immediately—but it pleases me to give you special treatment today, Texas lawmakers. Maybe if you weren’t so gun-crazy, and such blatant, unapologetically misogynist, racist, homophobic cretins, you wouldn’t be on everyone’s radar. Maybe if you weren’t a disgrace to humanity, I wouldn’t feel the urge to rake you over the coals. Maybe if you weren’t hellbent on returning Texas to the 19th century, you wouldn’t be the punchline to a very bad joke.

Apologies to all the normal, decent people of Texas—because I know there are so many of you. I realize that this screed may offend, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Fuck You: Year-end (or World-end) edition

If you’re reading this, the world hasn’t ended…yet.  The Mayans didn’t say what time the end would come, or in what time zone, but let’s assume we have at least a few more hours.  If the world does explode today, I want to say farewell with a Fuck You medley.

Fuck you, gun nuts.  Fuck you and your arguments about how owning assault weapons protects us from tyranny.  The United States has the biggest arsenal on the planet.  If the government wanted to subdue the masses, do you honestly think a semi-automatic rifle would help you?  You could have a Howitzer in your front yard and it wouldn’t matter.  And you morons truly believe that arming everyone would prevent horrific shootings like the one in Newtown??  Rot in hell, you twisted, deranged scumbags.

Fuck you, cottage cheese.  I despise you.  I truly do.  If I were stranded somewhere and you were the only thing available to eat, I’d starve to death.  You’re disgusting.  You have icky curds and a funky aroma, and I still have PTSD from the one time I tried you.  People say you’re a good, healthy snack.  I disagree.  You’re nasty, and I hope you become someone’s prison bitch.

Fuck you, cancer.  You miserable fucking mutants.  You’ve killed millions of people.  You’ve tried to take out members of my family.  What is your fucking problem?  As long as I’m alive, I vow to fight you.  I will make sure everyone I know is vigilant about keeping you away and getting rid of you as fast as possible.  Drop dead.

Fuck you, Tom Cruise.  I hate you.  You’re a shitty actor and you’re insane.  And your voice annoys the shit out of me.  By the way, you’re about as suited to play Jack Reacher as I am.  Fuck you.  For the love of Xenu, go to the Scientology compound and stay there.  Permanently.  Do not speak or show yourself in public ever again.  You suck.

Fuck you, CEOs.  You’re greedy, evil motherfuckers.  You’ve destroyed so many lives with your callous disregard for your employees and your customers.  You’re soulless vultures who would sell your families for a few extra bucks.  I want to be there when the Universe doles out your karmic retribution.  I would mock you, laugh heartily, and eat popcorn while you suffered the slings and arrows of your outrageous fortune, as it were.  Blow me.

Fuck you, man sitting behind me on the plane.  You couldn’t gently put your tray back up—no, you had to slam it into the back of my seat.  Were you trying to give me whiplash or was that just a bonus?  And then you grabbed my seat back to hoist yourself up every time you changed positions.  Asswipe.  I reclined my seat in hopes of pissing you off but you didn’t seem to mind.  That just pissed me off more.  If I ever see you again, I will cut you into teeny tiny pieces.

Fuck you, dickwad standing behind me on line at the ATM.  Do you always stand that close to people you don’t know?  What the fuck is wrong with you?  You should have at least bought me a drink or asked for my name before you crawled up my ass.  I have three words for you: Personal space, motherfucker.

(Also, I really will be blogging about my party with Darla, Calahan, and Joe—as soon as the dust settles from Armageddon.)

All I want for Christmas is…

But first, Happy Pearl Harbor Day!  I might have forgotten were it not for Sandylikeabeach, who observed that yesterday was Pearl Harbor Day Eve.  So thanks, Sandy!  Yes, it was 71 years ago today that the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and facilitated America’s entry into WWII.  It wasn’t a good day.  Nor were the 828 days of war before December 7th, nor were the 1,347 days after it.  War sucks.

And this is a good segue to the subject of today’s post:  my Christmas list.  I would like world peace, but that seems to be a pretty tall order.  Santa’s good, but he’s not a miracle worker.  I’ll have to be more realistic.  Here’s what I’ve got so far:

• A Tesla death ray to eradicate the idiot tourists in Manhattan.  I will not rest until New York is free of loud, intelligence-free, giant map-wielding visitors who have not mastered the art of walking in a straight line.  They’re a plague.  Like locusts, except dumber.  I’d almost rather deal with the aliens from Cloverfield than maneuver around some dipstick trying to take a photo of the tree at Rockefeller Center without any people in the way.
• The ability to summon a perfect cup of coffee from the ether by clapping my hands.  I realize this could pose a problem when I’m at an event where applause is involved.  But I’m willing to take that risk.
• A magic middle finger.  You have now seen a photo of me flipping the bird—it comes quite naturally to me.  I want to be able to give the finger to people and things and have them automatically behave themselves.  How cool would that be?  Next time I encounter a douchebag yattering away on his cell phone, I can just strike the pose and he’ll magically shut the fuck up.  Car alarm wailing in the middle of the night?  No problem—I’ll just stick my middle finger out the window and presto: sweet silence.  Nasty bitch giving me attitude?  I’ll flip her off and she’ll feel compelled to apologize.  As a bonus, she’ll spontaneously gain ten pounds.
• A calorie vaporizer.  We’ve sent probes to Mars and the far reaches of the solar system.  The Hubble telescope has revealed images of galaxies billions of light years away.  We have programs that allow me to hold my phone up to the speakers to identify a song I don’t know.  If we can do cool stuff like that, then surely we can invent something that will zap the calories in a piece of chocolate cake while leaving the cake intact.  What the fuck is all this technology for, if not to better our lives??
• This guy.  I know what you’re saying.  You’re saying, “Madame Weebles, Robert Cornelius has been dead for 119 years.”  That’s true.  However, if we can build Tesla death rays, vaporize calories, neutralize idiots with our middle fingers, and conjure coffee out of thin air, then I can’t see why bringing someone back from the dead should be a big deal.  But listen, I don’t want to be unreasonable.  Santa Claus has enough on his plate. If it’s too difficult to get Robert Cornelius, I’d be overjoyed to receive this guy as a gift instead.

Now I need to know what to get for all you guys. Kindly tell me what’s on your list and I’ll go shopping this weekend.

Demons and ghosts

(This is not a post about actual demons or ghosts, by the way, sorry.)

There must be something in the air/water/pixels these days.  Maybe it’s the colder weather, less daylight, the upcoming holidays, or a combination of things.  But everyone seems to be having a particularly rough time lately.  Depression, anxiety, life problems, etc.  Other bloggers have eloquently described their own struggles lately, and I wanted to be one of the cool kids so now I’m taking my turn.  I’m not writing this to elicit sympathetic comments; I’m doing it for myself, as an act of defiance, as it were.

We all carry demons and ghosts with us.  You know the ones I’m talking about.  The thoughts that cause us to doubt, fear, flee, self-destruct, etc.  The memories of awful events that cause us pain each time we recall them.  They live in our brains.  Some are louder than others, some are more powerful than others.

My demons have been with me for as long as I can remember.  Some have taunted me since I was very young, others have popped up only sporadically over the years.  The ghosts of people and experiences from my past appear over and over as if they were still real, to remind me of the awful things have happened—and could happen again.

Not long ago, I realized that these demons and ghosts, as destructive as they are, have been trying to protect me—in their own twisted way.

Don’t talk about yourself.  Distract people.  If they got to know you, they’d be disappointed.  It will only hurt you.

Don’t draw attention to yourself.  It will only make people aware of your flaws.  And they’ll end up hurting you.

If you take a risk and stick your neck out, you’ll just get your head cut off.  Don’t do it.

Everyone else is smarter, funnier, more interesting, more successful, prettier, thinner, and generally better than you are.  You need to remember this so you won’t be disappointed when you’re rejected.

This person reminds me of So-and-So for some reason.  Remember how he/she hurt you?  So stay away from this one so you don’t get hurt again.

When someone is mean to you or leaves you, it’s probably your fault somehow.  It’s not them, it’s you.  The only solution is to stay away from people so bad things don’t happen.

Remember that time?  This is just like that.  Get out of this before something bad happens again.

See what I mean?  They’re vicious.  But they’re worried about me getting hurt.  They base their information on my past experiences but they’re looking at everything through a really skewed, negative lens.  They know that telling me I’m worthless is upsetting, but they think it’s less upsetting than if I were to hear it from someone else.

I blindly obeyed them for a long, long time.  I trusted that they were keeping me safe from further pain and rejection.  It’s taken me a long time—and a lot of therapy—to look these demons and ghosts square in the eye and say, “I get what you were doing, and I think you meant well.  Thanks for trying to help me, but you have to go away now.”  They’re stubborn, though, and they don’t go quietly.  They’re also not the most rational things, these demons and ghosts.  You can’t reason with them.  The only thing you can do is forcibly evict them.

The funny thing is, if you met me in real life, chances are you wouldn’t suspect that any of this was going on in my brain.  I suspect I come across as fairly confident.  I don’t have much trouble asserting myself and I can talk to pretty much anyone.  And I really will cheerfully kick the shit out of anyone who truly deserves it.  I can do these things.  Probably because they don’t involve making myself especially vulnerable.  I guess there’s truth in the saying, “The best defense is a good offense.”

I won’t lie to you, it’s been a tough battle, exorcising these demons.  How do you assemble an arsenal to fight these little fuckers when you have “Creep” as your emotional soundtrack?  It’s not easy.  It means throwing away my entire operating system and starting from scratch, alone.  And understanding that self-protection—and self-esteem—are about building myself up and taking risks, not keeping myself down and barricading myself against things that might cause me pain.

So these days, I have to take it on faith that people aren’t scrutinizing me and cataloguing every single flaw—and if they are, then I need to tell myself that they’re the ones with the problem.  I have to remind myself that most people are basically decent and that they aren’t out to hurt me deliberately.  I have to trust that I’m okay, and that the demons are wrong.

Come to think of it, fuck you, demons.

Fuck you, bullies

NOTE: I had hoped to make this a regular Friday thing because I like the alliterative quality of Fuck You Friday, but I haven’t been able to stick to a regular schedule so far.  Therefore, I declare today to be Fuck You Fwednesday.
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Hey, assholes.  Yeah, you.  The scumbag who likes to belittle people.  The stuck-up bitch who trashes other chicks right to their faces.  The mean kid who makes fun of his classmates.  I’m talking to you.

You people are everywhere.  You’re a fucking plague.  I’ve read too many heartbreaking stories about children and teenagers being bullied for one reason or another.  Do you find it rewarding to pick on those who are smaller, weaker, or different?  Is it that much fun to gang up on someone and spread nasty rumors about them?  Does it truly satisfy you to taunt a person until they cry?  Or worse, until they have a nervous breakdown or commit suicide?  Do you think it makes you powerful?  It doesn’t.  It makes you vile subhuman filth.

The same goes for your adult counterparts. Internet trolls who get their rocks off by posting rude and insensitive remarks.  Facebookers, bloggers, and tweeters who target and mock others for entertainment.  Mean-spirited fucks who enjoy embarrassing their colleagues publicly.  Toxic bosses who are verbally abusive to their staff.  The foul vermin who bully their spouses or partners. What the fuck is your problem?  Obviously you haven’t grasped that you can’t become superior by cutting someone else down.  Here’s a news flash for you: not only does it not make you superior, it also makes you lesser people, you fucking cowards.

I was bullied when I was young.  I was shy and I was afraid of a lot of things.  I was also not an attractive child.  To make matters worse, I was the tallest one in my class, and the only one who had glasses and braces at the age of 9.  I may as well have had a bullseye painted on my forehead.  Terrible things were said to me.  My classmates teased me unmercifully.  Grownups made cruel, judgmental comments.  I was physically confronted by bullies a few times too, and it sucked.  Being a target because I was funny looking was bad enough; I can’t imagine how traumatic it is for kids who are victimized because of their color, religion, socio-economic level, or sexual orientation, or because of a handicap or other physical differentiation.

I’m not that shy, scared kid anymore.  As an adult, I feel very strongly about about confronting and stopping bullies.  You’re like cancers—you spread everywhere and you need to be cut off in your tracks.  I’m not a mother, and you should be glad about that because I would be your worst nightmare if you ever picked on my kid.  As it is, I am insanely protective of my friends and family.  If you take a potshot at someone I care about, I WILL COME AFTER YOU.  If you so much as say ONE WORD out of line about any of my loved ones, you will hear from me. I’m not kidding.

I don’t care if you had an unhappy childhood.  I don’t give a shit if you feel powerless and frustrated.  Under other circumstances, I might have compassion for you.  But if you choose to take out your misery and anger on someone with even less power, you forfeit any right to sympathy as far as I’m concerned.  Justifying your actions by blaming your home life or your upbringing makes as much sense as serial killers who target victims who look like their mother, or wife, or the first woman who ever dumped them.  The problem is YOU, motherfuckers.  Look at yourselves for a change, you spineless losers.  Look at what your actions have wrought.  Nothing good, right?  Think about that for a while.

Fuck you, you hate-filled jackals.  Fuck you and your twisted need to hurt others.  I don’t even have to wish ill on you—all I have to do is hope that you get what you deserve, because karma will be a vicious bitch.

Search terms: Insane Weebles edition

Since my last post on search terms, another crop of nutjobs has been hard at work trying to get the 411 on some deeply strange subjects.  Many are Weeble-related search terms so I’m grouping them according to Category of Weirdness.

In the “It’s Weevils, Not Weebles, You Pinheads” Category:
how to get rid of weebles
weeble spray
weeble bug killer
weeble bugs in flour

So this means that people truly don’t know the difference between bugs that infest flour and/or cotton crops, and small toys that wobble but don’t fall down.  I weep for humanity.

In the “Sweet Fancy Moses, What Is WRONG With You!?” Category:
pictures of sleeping weebles
weeble torture
weebles never spill the blood of christ
weebles dying under the skin of a horse
chick masturbates with weebles

Who ARE these people???  Sleeping Weebles?  Weeble torture?  What the fuck??  Are they aware that Weebles aren’t actually living creatures?  “Weebles never spill the blood of Christ” baffles me because I’m not sure how that’s possible.  I’ve been to Mass, and the eucharistic ministers were pretty good but they had hands with opposable thumbs.  How would Weebles be able to manage NOT to spill the blood of Christ?  Then we have Weebles dying under the skin of a horse.  I’m not sure if I feel sadder for the Weebles or the horse.  How do Weebles get under the skin of a horse, anyway?  What sick bastard put them there, and why?

And the chick who masturbates with Weebles.  Where do I begin?  Obviously she’s running the risk of getting Weebles lodged in some unusual places.  This is not an easy thing to explain to one’s ob/gyn.  Also, for the love of all that is good and decent, I hope she doesn’t let her kids play with those particular Weebles.

If these searches continue, I’m going to establish the ASPCW (American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Weebles).  Because this is just wrong.

Now for the more random search terms:

redneck elevator
I think this would be a great name for a Japanese punk band.  Aside from that, I’m in favor of redneck-only elevators—this way the rest of us don’t have to be trapped with them.

if your vagina is as big as my hand
I’m curious.  Does this person have really tiny hands or freakishly large, acromegaly-type hands?

good day for a regatta if i was a douche
I’ll bet plenty of douches do, in fact, enjoy regattas.  I love this line because it can be adapted for use in so many situations:  “It would be a good day to talk at the top of lungs on my cell phone if I was a douche,”  “It would be a good day to wear Axe Body Spray if I was a douche,” and so on.

this is a law office we don’t use comic sans
I kind of like the idea of lawyers who use Comic Sans.  You know they wouldn’t take themselves too seriously.  They might not even really have law degrees.

america because fuck you
This should replace E pluribus unum as our official U.S. motto.

Fuck you, pantyhose

I plan on having a new “Fuck you” post every Friday, but this post had to be postponed from last Friday because of the blogging duel.  So better late than never.

This is a post mainly for the ladies, although there may be some male readers who have had first-hand experience with pantyhose.  That’s cool, I don’t judge.  But if you’re not one of those gentlemen, this post will probably be of little interest.  So for your enjoyment, I offer this classic:

And now for today’s “Fuck You.”

I loathe you, pantyhose.  You come in only two sizes:  Elephant Leg and Death Grip.  They both suck ass.  You have no redeeming features.  NONE.  You’re hot and sweaty, even in the winter.  You haven’t the slightest idea how to fit.  You pinch, bind, constrict, sag, bunch, and twist up inexplicably . . . why don’t you just jam bamboo strips under my fingernails, you hateful little shit?

And you know the worst thing about you, you stupid hose?  You’re weak and pathetic.  I can put on a brand-new pair of you and you start to run immediately.  I might be able to distract you briefly with a dab of clear nail polish, but invariably you freak out and run somewhere else.  Sometimes you spontaneously form giant holes just for funsies.  Thanks for wasting my money, you fucking losers.  I lost count of how many mornings you made me late for work, how many times you caused me to curse uncontrollably, how many times I wanted to rip you into shreds, set you on fire, and dump your ashes in that mystery liquid on the subway tracks.

Here’s how much you suck: criminals wear you over their heads so people can’t tell what they look like.  So you’re either directly causing harm by inflicting massive discomfort and misery when we wear you, or you’re indirectly causing harm by aiding and abetting felons.  Good job, assholes.

You’re proof that if there is a God, he’s definitely male.  Because a female God would never have allowed you to exist.  You are to humans what Windows is to PC users—we hate you, but we use you because we don’t have many alternatives.  I pray for the day when women everywhere realize how horrific you are and decide to banish you from the face of the earth.  You deserve it.  You’ve enraged us long enough.

Fuck you, you odious pieces of nylon.  Fuck you a lot.

Fuck you, Republican wingnuts

[Disclaimer: This is not aimed at my Republican buddies here, who are intelligent, thoughtful human beings.  This is for the members of the GOP who are hell-bent on fomenting hatred and encouraging discrimination, among other things.  Anyone who is offended by this, however, is exactly the type of person I'm referring to below and should be offended.]

[Note: I'm not generally a politics person.  I will probably never write another political post, so I wanted to make this one count.  I'm coming out swinging.  I might lose some readers, and that's okay.]

Hey, wingnuts.  You don’t know me but you hate me.

I’m from New York City.  To you guys, that’s just another name for Sodom.  Y’all hate us city slickers because we’re not honest, hard-workin’, church-goin’, “real” Amuricans.  Yet my city, along with 3,000 people, took a big hit for you 11 years ago.  Fuck you.

I believe that a person’s race, religion, or sexual orientation has absolutely nothing to do with a person’s right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  You, on the other hand, cloak yourselves in your “Christian faith” and use it to justify your perverse views on humanity.  And you’re fine with people enjoying freedom—as long as they’re white, Christian, and heterosexual, and as long as they think exactly as you do.  You’re fucking hypocrites.

I care about the earth.  I know global warming is real.  I oppose drilling in the Arctic, fracking, and everything else that messes with our fragile environment.  I support the Kyoto Protocol and I’m ashamed that we are one of the few nations not to ratify it.  You hate that hippie shit.  As long as you make more money, who cares what happens to the planet, right?   You clueless fucking idiots.

I’m a woman.  I’m everything you dislike in a woman, too.  I am child-free by choice.  I didn’t take my husband’s last name.  I have my own career.  I believe all women should be able to live without the government dictating what we can and cannot do with our bodies.  You think we should be smacked around and put back in our place.  A lot of you don’t even seem to believe rape is a real crime.  That’s how much you hate us.  Fuck you, you sick misogynist bastards.

I say women should have equality in the workplace and get equal pay for doing the same work as men.  You hate that idea with a passion.  Let me tell you something, wingnuts.  The first women in my family to work outside the home were my grandmothers.  They were working their asses off when Lilly Ledbetter was still just a gleam in her daddy’s eye.  My grandmothers worked because they had to.  One of my grandmothers was an immigrant from Sicily.  You would have hated her just for that.  The other was a Rosie the Riveter—she worked at Fairchild Camera, manufacturing bomb sights and reconnaissance camera equipment for the war effort. (You’re welcome.)  They had difficult lives and few options.  Today, American women have opportunities that my grandmothers couldn’t even have dreamed about.  And you can’t handle the fact that women are now outclassing you and challenging your authority, can you?  Fuck you, you deserve it.

One of our greatest Republican presidents, Theodore Roosevelt, was a champion of women’s rights.  He also spoke out against racism.  His unorthodox views didn’t endear him to a lot of people, but he was a very forward-thinking guy.  I suspect that if he were alive today, he would have been just as open-minded on the subject of gay rights.  Meanwhile you halfwits are trying to drag us back to much darker times.  You’re a disgrace—not just to the Republican party, but to the whole country.  TR would kick your sorry asses back to the Stone Age.  Fuck you.

You disgust me.  You’re vile, arrogant, and pathetic.   I hate how you’ve given my country and my people such an awful reputation around the world.  Because the Americans I know—immigrant, American-born, gay, transgender, hetero, black, white, Latino, Asian, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, atheist, whatever—are decent, kind, open-hearted souls.  They’re better Americans and human beings than you will ever be.

You’ve rewritten history to suit your agendas.  You’ve twisted the truth to such an extreme that it’s not even recognizable anymore.  Some people say you’re insane.  I disagree.  You’re not insane, you’re just evil.

The only good thing is that the more you talk, the more you reveal yourselves as hate-filled, ignorant troglodytes.  And the more that happens, the more people will want to stop you.  Because you need to be stopped.  You need to go back to your caves and pick bugs off each other, and leave my country alone.

Fuck you.  Fuck you all.