Listen, Turd:

It would have been over by now anyway if you had stuck it out. I mean, it was just a little indulgence...a trifle...it wouldn't have shortened your life any more than you have already by stuffing your face with fast food, would it? All you had to do was wait for a cute and clever diversion to flash by.

But you couldn't do it.

You just couldn't fight back that tiny infantile runt tantrumming in your soul for gratification istanta. You couldn't control the Pavlovian conditioning by the Capitalist Free Market Industrial Complex that has turned you into a pathological Mass Consumerist Slave with all the courtesy and charm of a sowish suburbanite at the local Walmart feed trough, heedless that women and children in the third world are sitting up to their hips in their own excrement churning out cheap trendy crap that you're dying to be the first to own for a day.

So since you don't have the time, I'll be up-front with you:

You Type A swine make me puke!

You're all a bunch of greedy inconsiderate ultra-obsessive self-absorbed petty blackballing bastards with the moral compass of a bonobo!

Strike that last part: you've probably out-sourced your sex-life to India because you can't make time for it!!!

Well, I have a consolation for the future: it's the custard-like schlog of arterial plaque in your coronary artery that's about to pinch off the blood supply to your heart and your vapid, selfish, stinking, soulless life!

Bitter? Hell yes:

You snubbed Jolene's Really Cool Flash Intro!

You shattered a good and caring woman's creative spirit!

You're a shallow, self-anointing uber-jerk with the personal tenderness of an inflamed abscess and the philanthropic tedancies of Jack the Ripper.

My God, how I despise YOU!

So, just go ahead. I can't bear your putrescent presence another second. Click and can go on with your crappy existence:

I'm a bastard.