Get lost, you psycho, before I beat you to a bloody pulp while my partner here films it.

You're ugly and you're doughy and you're bursting with love like some kind of rancid wedding cake that was left out in a terrible rainstorm by a drifter who's smelling named Hank who lives in a storm drain and he wears five pairs of pants even though it's summertime and he'd be much more comfortable wearing five pairs of shorts.