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Dear Stupid Bastard

Do you really, in all your dumbass, believe I can’t track down someone who freaks out here and racks up that many page hits while dropping a threat? Do you have a CLUE about how fucked up–and wired–I am?

Pocket, puppet. I put you in the pocket. And you either back up or get a visit at your door.

And yeah, that is a threat….but who the fuck are you? I’m supposed to give a shit? My door is public. Get off your pussy ass and stop lurkng like a dickbag.

Or should I take the Staten Island Road Runner servers for a look under the hood? I mean, do you really think you can hide from me…you, a fucking piece of shit….think you can pull it off?

Too late. UPDATE: you, asshole, who has been reading up on my posts? Say “Hello.”

PS: You’re an absolute asshole if you truly think I can’t follow every fucker who hits my shit. Or show up at your door, asshole.

In case you don’t get it: I WANT the fight, you two-bit prick.

It’s what I do.

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