Mario says:
LITTLE TIMMY, WITH YOUR CRANIUM SOFTER THAN A WEEK-OLD MARSHMALLOW AND A MIND MORE DECAYED THAN A SKIBIDI TOILET, YOU'RE THE EPITOME OF WHAT HAPPENS WHEN BRAINROT MEETS A SLEDGEHAMMER. YOU STRUT AROUND WITH THE DELUSIONAL CONFIDENCE OF A SIGMA MALE, YET YOUR ONLY CLAIM TO SIGMA STATUS IS THE AMOUNT OF TIME YOU SPEND MEWING AT YOUR OWN REFLECTION IN THE TOILET BOWL, HOPING TO SOMEHOW MORPH YOUR PATHETIC FACE INTO SOMETHING LESS REMINISCENT OF A SQUISHED EARTHWORM. YOU'RE A SAD, INSIGNIFICANT SPECK OF HUMANITY, CLINGING TO THE DESPERATE HOPE THAT ONE DAY, YOU'LL ASCEND FROM THE DEPTHS OF MEDIOCRITY. BUT ALAS, YOUR BRAIN'S ABILITY TO COMPREHEND COMPLEX IDEAS IS SO STUNTED THAT EVEN A SLOTH ON TRANQUILIZERS WOULD LEAVE YOU IN THE DUST. YOU'RE NOT JUST A WASTE OF SPACE; YOU'RE A WASTE OF THE OXYGEN THAT YOU SO GREEDILY SUCK IN AS YOU REGURGITATE YOUR NONSENSICAL DRIVEL. YOUR VERY EXISTENCE IS A TESTAMENT TO THE COSMIC JOKE THAT IS NATURAL SELECTION, AND FRANKLY, THE UNIVERSE IS LAUGHING AT THE SHEER ABSURDITY OF YOUR PITIFUL ATTEMPTS AT RELEVANCE. SO, KEEP ON MEWING, TIMMY, WHILE THE REST OF THE WORLD WATCHES IN MORBID FASCINATION AT THE TRAGIC SPECTACLE OF A HUMAN BEING TRYING TO SCULPT THEMSELVES INTO SOMETHING RESEMBLING A MAN, ALL WHILE THEIR SOUL SHRIVELS UP LIKE A FORGOTTEN RAISIN AT THE BOTTOM OF A CEREAL BOX.
(You can see it in the image description)
