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Har...like I care to figure out Broccoli Boi's actual birthday.



I'm amazed it hasn't come up in your stalker print out. You don't know my birthday yet you know what high school my grandmother went to. Creepy stuff.



Only because she actually graduated.

Face it Broc Boi, the only day we'll ever really notice you is when you're sent to the morgue.

<...waits for Broccoli Boy to look up "morgue"...>

Until then, you're just a blip on the screen, a momentary joke that was funny at first, and now is just sad and pathetic. Do you have any life skills that would allow you to transcend being a "female cum dumpster?" Can you fix cars? Work in a bank? Wait tables? I doubt any of them. You should pray to FDR's ghost every night that he invented social security and modern welfare, because it's your ultimate fate.

<...waits for Broc Boi to look up "FDR"...>

I'd love to be a fly on the wall for one of your job interviews ten years from now, when your only known talent is to vomit on yourself after a couple of fat greasy hookers pissed all over you. Seriously, why not just OD on a huge spoon of heroin right now? Get it over with, and spare yourself a lifetime of shame and ignominy.

I know...you gotta go and look that one up too.