[Default] On Fri, 17 Jan 2020 13:15:07 -0800 (PST), Trunky
wrote this crap:
For me, it's quality not quantity. You probably get in more days
masturbating than me, too.
Gee, whiz, I get both and a lot more of it. Whereas you count
how many days you beat off. No doubt you get about 100
days of self abuse for every day on the hill. Must be hard to
spank your tiny liddle pud when wearing diapers.
You're always wondering about my underwear. I just bought some new
ones yesterday. Fruit-of-the-Loom Bikini Briefs, size 32 waist, extra
medium. Chicks dig it.
You can't play tennis, softball, or
football.
Really? Played in the state championship tournament a
couple years ago, so I am competent.
Prove it. You probably played Candy Crush on your phone while sitting
in the stands.
Happy to. Give me a verifiable address and name and I will send you a
picture of my trophy (which was a frigging t-shirt, but still).
Not impressed. At my family Christmas party my brother was showing
off a new trophy that we got at the yacht club. A very nice plaque.
I'm going to put it in my scanner and make a copy for my trophy wall.
As for softball, didn't hang up the cleats until I was 55.
You sat on the bench until you were 55, then was asked to leave
because you were hitting on the little boys.
I was still batting clean-up on my 55th birthday, freak. Damn proud
of it, too. Hey, show up and call me a child molester,
and I will treat you to a home run swing, I keep a bat at the front
door just in case.
So what? I keep a bat at the front door, too. But mine is sharpened.
And I lettered in football, which is more than you can say.
At my school, just showing up for practice earned you a letter.
Which you did to hustle the second string.
The
waterboy, the towel boy, and the clean-up crew got letters.
So you got a letter, eh, Huggies? Even the diaper boi was honored.
Hell, the
guy who set out and cleaned the ash trays got a letter.
(It was a rough neighborhood. The guy who changed the score on the
scoreboard used spray paint.)
Starting tight end and outside linebacker, junior and senior years.
Sure, Mr. Mitty. I suppose you hung out with Mike Ditka and Terry
Bradshaw, and they gave you Bogners, too.
Whereas you didn't even make the team because you are a pussy.
My neighborhood was poor. Families of immigrants didn't believe in
after school sports. The boys had to work and the girls went home to
do chores. My sport was fencing. Gold and silver made the most
profit, while guns always did good. We left the auto parts and
electronics to the Negroes and Mexicans.
You're probably worthless at boxing.
Show up and find out.
You wouldn't last a half a round.
No need to. Over in ten seconds, you on the ground. Show up and find out.
That drug dealer I beat up ended up
in prison. He's serving 8 to 14. That's a life sentence because
he'll be killed in prison before he get's out. Want to join him?
Sure, I'll take that chance. Verifiable ID? You're bragging about being a coward again.
You can't sing.
Quite competent, actually, Huggies.
Bull****. I heard your squeaky Mickey Mouse voice over the phone.
You butt dialed someone else, obviously.
I guarantee that I can sing Taps over you. Day is done,
(Singing
M-I-C-K-E-Y......M-O-U-S-EEEEE.
Yes, you are a mouse. Like Mickey, wearing a diaper.
You
are good for nothing except shoveling **** and giving blowjobs.
That's YOUR MOS, Huggies.
Mine was 25-A Combat Communications Electronics Officer.
Telephone operator, the Klinger of your units. I bet you wore a dress, too.
? You've
been a loser your whole life. Try to do something right for a change.
Aim the gun carefully while the end of the barrel is in your mouth.
Say that in person. Say anything in person. Ooooops, forgot. Taps.
I said it over the phone. D D G, D G B, D G B, D G B, G B D(a high
D), B G D, D D G.
You're bragging about being a coward again. As usual.
And you're bragging about singing like Shirley Temple.
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Horvath