I don’t give a f**k who you are or where you live. You can count on me to be there to bring your f**king life to a hellish end. I’ll put you in so much f**king pain that it’ll make Jesus being nailed to a cross in the desert look like a f**king back massage on a tropical island. I don’t give a f**k how many reps you have or how tough you are IRL, how well you can fight, or how many f**king guns you own to protect yourself. I’ll f**king show up at your house when you aren’t home. I’ll turn all the lights on in your house, leave all the water running, open your fridge door and not close it, and turn your gas stove burners on and let them waste gas. You’re going to start stressing the f**k out, your blood pressure will triple, and you’ll have a f**king heart attack. You’ll go to the hospital for a heart operation, and the last thing you’ll see when you’re being put under in the operating room is me hovering above you, dressed like a doctor. When you wake up after being operated on, wondering what ticking time bomb is in your chest waiting to go off. You’ll recover fully from your heart surgery. And when you walk out the front door of the hospital to go home I’ll run you over with my f**king car out of no where and kill you. I just want you to know how easily I could f**king destroy your pathetic excuse of a life, but how I’d rather go to a great f**kng length to make sure your last remaining days are spent in a living, breathing f**king hell. It’s too late to save yourself, but don’t bother committing suicide either… I’ll f**king resuscitate you and kill you again myself you bitch-faced phaggot. Welcome to hell, population: you?
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