Gordo the Gobblin' King must die now, not later. Die, die, die, you incompetent piece of dried-out, white dogtulip, like what you don't see around 'ere anymore, eeeeh. I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire, unless I thought that, by peeing in strategic places, it might be possible for me to prolong your agony, you triple-cursed, knob-rotting, savings-f*c*ing, wealth-destroying weeping sore on the hairy, sweaty scrotum of humanity.
F**k you, Gobblin' King: f*c* you right in the ear.
F**k you, Gobblin' King: f*c* you right in the ear.
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