You didn't look it up, you upper-class twit. You just believed it when someone else called you out.

I won't go into your horrible abuse of the mother tongue. We "Euros" know how to speak...and write. So come one over and get your bitch-slapping, though I suspect you'll fly straight to AMS (that's an airport code, you need to look it up) for your hash and rape porn fix.

Yeah, I'm middle class, and you know what...I LIKE IT. I can be highbrow when I want, I can be a degenerate when I want. And I get women because I have looks, not an overpriced Limey Sled. I strongly suspect your "real" rig is a 15 year old Merkur xR4Ti (crew!). Oops, that's another inside joke. Southerners probably don't get it...another after effect of losing the Civil War.

You know what I do for a living? Banks hire me to liquidate failed ships like yours. And believe me...business is a-boomin'. So it won't be long before I show up at your doorstep with writs of replevin for that car, demanding an inventory list and the names in your A/R system.

[cue John Cleese] I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty-headed animal food trough wiper! I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.