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That's right. It's official. You are a prick and no one likes you. ASS. Holy crap you suck. I've seen people suck, but DAMN! Give it a rest already. Enough already with all the sucking. We are all very aware of the massive sucking that you are capable of. Five seconds of you not sucking is all we ask. Do you think you can manage that, your behemoth of pooh? So what can you do to stop this immense reeking that you are so adept at exhibiting? Oh I don't know, maybe you could stop sucking. Every think of that Skippy? NO! You just keep on sucking. You selfish son of a bitch. If you don't stop sucking we are going to kill a kitten. Is that what you want? Dead kitten? Because that's what you're going to get. Piles of dead kittens and it's all going to be your fault for your unyielding sucking. Screw you, you colossal sack of crap. We couldn't suck as much as you if we had an Electrified Sucking machine. Do you know how much you have to suck to be able to beat an electrified sucking machine? That's not just some ordinary amount of sucking. That's like mega-sucking. We tried to get Steven Hawking to calculate how much you suck and do you know what he said? He said...Well actually he just drooled on our shoes but we think he meant to say that you like really suck alot. The man is paralyzed and he sucks less than you and that's saying alot. I mean he's in a wheelchair. You can like just stick it in there any time you want. What's he going to do to stop you? Roll over your toes, that's the worst thing that could happen. Anyhow, in conclusion, great googly moogly you suck.
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We here at Fist A Goat don't like old people. Quite frankly, we think they suck. We ask you, what they hell have old people done for us? Nothing! Oh sure, they won a few wars and stuff like that, but what have they done lately? That's right, nothing! So screw them. All they do is sit around all day, pooping their pants and whining aboot their hips. Well maybe if you weren't crapping so much, your hip wouldn't hurt.
Well, we here at Fist A Goat are sick and tired of these lay-aboots and we think it's time that we do something aboot them. What can I do, I'm only one person? you ask. Well the answer is simple. Push them. Knock them down. Kick them. Let's send these fuckers to the pearly gates with one last agonizing flourish of blows to the head whilst they writhe in a pool of their own piss and blood. No more early bird specials for you pops! Can't crochet with your arms broke, eh memaw! That's what I thought. Boo ya!
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 I want to fuck Wilford Brimley.
I want to feel his creamy thighs.
I want to ride him like a Shetland pony.
I want to feel his moustache exploring my nether regions in a frenzied dance of passion heretofore not known by mortal man.
I say this with a rather solid record of staunch heterosexuality. I'm not exactly sure why this is, but every time I see him, I have this uncontrollable urge to funnel Quaker Oats up his sphincter while Vietnamese girls pummel his genitalia with various meats and cheeses. Of course, I know this is highly inappropriate and could never happen. I mean, where is an ordinary guy like me going to meet a mega star like Wilford Brimley? Obviously, there is very little chance of meeting the media darling, Wilford Brimley. However, there is a chance of meeting a Wal-Mart greeter that would have some resemblance to Wilford Brimley and I could f..... Hmmm... I'm gonna need a shoe horn. Gotta go!
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