What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little vegan? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my rank in Paul Bocuse’s master chef competition, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret feasts in all of Europe, and I have over 300 confirmed grills. I am trained in gorilla cuisine and I’m the top griller in the entire french haute gastonomie. You are nothing to me but just another steack. I will grill you the fuck out with fire heat the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of waitress in all of the Burger Kings across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, vegan. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking cooked, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can grill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my spatula and charcoal. Not only am I extensively trained in feast gathering, but I have access to the entire arsenal of bovin, porcin and chiken meat in all of the United States and I will use it to its full extent to feed your miserable mouth off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will burn in it. You’re fucking grilled, kiddo.