he clutched at the heart, & held it up into the air, blood dripping down his wrist.
consider yourself murdered, if you've walked into this fucking bookstore today. fucking mongoloid pieces of shit. first, that mouth-breather who left those bookmarks for that retarded "so pretty...in pink" came back in, acting a dumb-ass. no we never ordered that book, because it is clearly a piece of shit. also, we did review your resume: in summation, you did not fucking major in fashion design in high school, okay whore? you are a fucking broken piece of nearly-human. & i don't have all that great an opinion of full-on humans. no spouting hamlet bullshit here- those little clay people are in no way comperable to an angel in faculty or anything else. also, frizzy haired confused lady? fuck you! screaming into this bookstore acting like a fucking chicken with your head cut off. what is this, a fucking electrified rat-maze experiment? darting around like you've spent all day pressing the cocaine lever. you fucking whore, you fucking asinine cunt. ask your fucking question instead of acting like you've had a lobotomy. man, if you've come in the fucking door instead of holding it open, if you'd have come within arm's reach, i'd've taken your ugly face off your skull. oh, & you tiny armed, big headed asshole? coming in hear unable to pronounce the name of your book is only okay if you are a freshman in a classics class. like, okay, so you can't say that greek guys name, okay. BUT ITS IN FUCKING ENGLISH! take your nutsack out of your mouth long enough to learn the language. you weren't even russian or island! you're just a retard. no excuses! you are going into the same level of the phantom zone as that fucker with the cocked von dutch hat. you fucking worthless little bitches. i've scraped better things off the bottom of my shoe. you make me want to explode into violence. i constantly dream of your excruciatingly slow death.