Dammit, Luxy! You had 2 months to come up with a zinger or a seething diatribe and that’s your best offering? You’re really losing your magic, Dude. Can’t you babble on about how I’m a corporate goon who just wants to bang my head and shake my fist while chugging Budweiser? What about calling me a closed minded Phiistine who will never appreciate the genius of Tool and Rush? Come on, Kid. Dig deep down into your whiny ass bag of emo faggitry and come back with something you can be proud of.
What is this supposed to be?? Some kind of superfluous shit?
Ahhh, there ya go, Little Girl. Some good ol’ fashioned Megadeth burns. Classic Pamlux. Are you gonna stick around for a while this time? I’d like to strike up some good conversations with you again, but it’s so hard when you run off everytime to go cash your social security checks on eyeliner and HIM CD’s and then cry in your basement for 3 months at a time.
I really miss my resident over-the-hill emo loser. You always cheer me up. No matter how crappy a day I might have I can always just look at a picture of you with your Justin Bieber haircut and black nail polish and tell myself, “Well, at least I’m not THAT guy!”
Thank you for inspiring even the most pathetic of losers.
Can’t you babble on about how I’m a corporate goon who just wants to bang my head and shake my fist while chugging Budweiser? What about calling me a closed minded Phiistine who will never appreciate the genius of Tool and Rush?
No. A fat retard pretending to be Batman is just fine. You’re good at pretending to be something you’re not. You’re also retarded.
Yes, you’re damn right I’m good at pretending on the internet. Anyone with half a brain cell can figure out how to make a good persona on the net and play it to their advantage.
But not you. No. You’re a sad pathetic loser in life and you’ve inexplicably chosen to keep the same identity here. You cry about how unpopular you were. You cry about how girls never liked you. You cry about how misunderstood your brilliant beloved musical crushes are. You cry that Mayor James Keenan Ivory Wayans won’t return your love poems.
Why? Why in the only place where you actually have the ability to lie to others and act like you’re NOT a 14 year old emo girl trapped in a 50 year old desperados body would you pass on such an opportunity.
You could have been anything. Anything, I tell you. And you chose to be the absolute saddest thing of all . . . .
Thanks, Brother! I gotta make it count since Spamlux has predictably gone back into hibernation. He’ll pop up again around November to hit me with some more brutal Batinsults or Mustainisms.
He takes ages to deliver this crap and when he finally does it’s such a let down and can’t possibly live up to the expectations.