[AnonymousBosch]

(09-24-2015 04:03 PM)Horus Wrote:  

Jesus. After having a quick look at her Twitter comments, she's a nasty, horrible, hateful, thoughtless bitch. It goes beyond mere delusion. This is proof of what Roosh said on the Dr Oz show, that a person's outward appearance is a reflection of what's on the inside.

Why do people even argue with her? She's a narcissist. Her entire typist career is one continuous venting of narcissistic fury. This is why I'm not offended or surprised by anything she has said or ever will say, and my only response to her is the logical one: to mock her at every opportunity.

I think it's time to dip into Bosch's Big Book Of Bedtime Fables:

The Handsome Prince and The Most Curious Turd

You're a Handsome Prince walking in the gardens of a palace, enjoying the sunlight, the warm air, and the scent of the flowers, all the while dreaming of the copious bounty of beauty that awaits you later tonight at the Grandest Ball of the season.

You hear an impolite, grating cough, and look down at your feet.

There, in your the path is a sizeable, still-steaming turd. Oddly, it's wearing a tiara. You can't help but wince, as the smell is terrible.

"How dare you wrinkle your nose in my presence, peasant scum!" the turd says, in an accusatory tone.

You're most surprised at being berated by the turd, and the bilious quality of its speech only adds to the unpleasant stench. As such, you don't really know what to say in response.

The turd, however, wasn't waiting for one.

"I am the most beautiful, glamorous Princess in the land, desired and envied by all! Uneducated, lower class Peons like you aren't fit to breath my rarified air! Begone from my sight!"

This confuses you even more, and you simply have to state the obvious. "Don't you realise you're just a giant turd?"

"How dare you! I'm beautiful! You're the one who is made of manure. You! Not me! Obviously, you would see this if you didn't possess such a deep and problematic hatred of Princesses."

"But your tiara is made from chunks of corn."

"You're just saying that because you're jealous of my beauty! Look yonder at my beloved Prince who chose me as his Future Queen! If I were a mere bowel movement, then I would never be chosen by such a Handsome Prince as he! Why, the very idea is literally-absurd, and, as such, our storybook marriage is proof that all turds... I mean Princesses!... are secretly-desired by Princes, and, as such, should feel fully-entitled to be chosen by one herself."

You look over to where the turd is motioning, (as well as a turd can do), and shrug in response. "That's only the still-puckering rear end of a horse."

"Harassment! Blaggards like you aren't fit to receive my royal wisdom! Guards! Guards! Off with his head!"

You could argue further with the turd, but you realise it just makes far more sense to hold your nose very tightly and step over such a silly creature.

It feebly expels a peanut from its mass in your direction as you lave. The last thing you hear as you turn the corner of the path, leave its sight forever: "It'll make me a better ruler when I am Queen!"

You continue on your way, soon-distracted by the heady perfume of the flowers and the giggling of the beautiful maidens walking ahead of you. As such, you quickly forget the curious and belligerent turd, other than thinking of it as being a potential source of great comedy should anyone slip in it.

Far behind you on the path, the turd dries and crackles in the sun.