Deet do dee do dee do do
I hope that someday, somewhere, someone takes a sharpened Number Two and burrows it into your ear, ever so slowly, over the course of several days. Then, just when you get used to the pain, he starts on your eyes.
No, really. I’m sure you’re very talented. It’s just that you deserve to be tortured, you know, a lot, for sticking that f*cking song in my head for the last few days. You know that worm they put in Spock’s ear in The Wrath of Kahn? It’s like that. That worm is in my brain, and I’m screaming, and it’s your fault. Hence, torture. I’m sure you get this a lot, so let’s just get started, shall we?