Hi! Just wanted to send a quick note to let you know I'm finally getting all of my shit replaced. I tore apart my home trying to find my Tiffany gold-embossed stationery that was blessed by Pope John Paul II, but I am at a loss. I hope this blog serves as an acceptable means to express my gratefulness to you, and my wishes for your shiny, bright future. And, alas, I cannot even spritz my great grandmother's cherished perfume on this blog, but please know that you are in my thoughts as well as hers, God rest her soul.
I hope you rot in hell. Actually, no. You will rot in the toilet in hell. And, much like Saddam Hussein, the Devil has multiple bathrooms. The toilet in which you will rot is really not even a bathroom at all. It is the overflowing hole in the ground that Mr. Devil only relieves himself into after he has had a liter of tequila and a baker's dozen Salmonella and E. coli O157:H7 ridden breakfast burritos. Hey, it may be fast food, but by the time UPS gets it down to hell, the ubiquitous population of pathogens characteristic of fast food have generated more than the parents of Baby Boomers. Enteric, isn't it?
Mr. Devil knows just how foul of a so-called toilet in which you live is, so he rarely asks even his filthiest inmates to clean it. In fact... Dahmer declined. Berkowitz backslided. Rader refused. Bundy banned the idea. Manson mooted it. Gein was too green. Gacy was so gregarious that it freaked out Mr. Devil. But, in the end, Henry Lee Lucas confessed to cleaning the so-called toilet 3000 times, so Mr. Devil was pleased.
Don't believe Mr. Lucas. Your toilet home is never cleaned. You are as filthy as the urine and crap that was excreted into your home 16 months ago. You smell. And, I hope you continue to rot. You deserve it, asshole who stole my purse.
I hope you rot in hell. Actually, no. You will rot in the toilet in hell. And, much like Saddam Hussein, the Devil has multiple bathrooms. The toilet in which you will rot is really not even a bathroom at all. It is the overflowing hole in the ground that Mr. Devil only relieves himself into after he has had a liter of tequila and a baker's dozen Salmonella and E. coli O157:H7 ridden breakfast burritos. Hey, it may be fast food, but by the time UPS gets it down to hell, the ubiquitous population of pathogens characteristic of fast food have generated more than the parents of Baby Boomers. Enteric, isn't it?
Mr. Devil knows just how foul of a so-called toilet in which you live is, so he rarely asks even his filthiest inmates to clean it. In fact... Dahmer declined. Berkowitz backslided. Rader refused. Bundy banned the idea. Manson mooted it. Gein was too green. Gacy was so gregarious that it freaked out Mr. Devil. But, in the end, Henry Lee Lucas confessed to cleaning the so-called toilet 3000 times, so Mr. Devil was pleased.
Don't believe Mr. Lucas. Your toilet home is never cleaned. You are as filthy as the urine and crap that was excreted into your home 16 months ago. You smell. And, I hope you continue to rot. You deserve it, asshole who stole my purse.
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