Yes, I know, you just think that my whole life is a huge joke.
Even so, for the sake of continuing the scripted routine:
Why is this wonton Rowing bimbo always screaming in my face? I didn't even know these people existed. Helen who? Harvey who? Yes, you can win by lies and deceits and/or conceits, obviously, but you cannot really keep that forever. Did you really win the game or did you just kick the can down the road? They will catch you eventually if you cannot find a way to get off your high horse voluntarily, even if I may not live long enough to see that. I sometimes think I hear echoes of Cindy Hurd's wicked butt sizzling on the grill. Was she your third cousin or something? Since when do I have to show my report card to the trashy Herd bimbos of Michigan? I have no connection to Michigan. Does not compute.
Anyway, it is not my fault that Stephanie sold herself a slave of the stupid Rowing Machine. Row row row. It never stops until death do us part, as the saying goes. And why should I waste my talents on some cheapskate junky low-class Montgomery Ward department store? They went out of business long ago. You have your place although I cannot say that I was even aware of your existence until recently, and even so, why should I care about that? What is wrong with you? Why are you so worked up into a frothy wrath about nothing? The Bible tells me to keep my eyes on the prize of the high calling of God. I don't take my orders from some wicked Rowing Machine bimbo. Needless to say
