Scooter, I Demand Satisfaction

Scooter, I demand satisfaction, the kind that can only be had by exposing a mark-ass trick for the trick-ass mark that he is. It has been three days since I posted a very direct and insulting challenge to your comedic abilities, the content of which included disparaging remarks about your flamboyant wardrobe, your lack of skill on the basketball court, and the meaninglessness of your existence. What sort of man is content to sit idly by while his good name is sullied and his honor and sexuality are called into question? Perhaps a few words from William Wallace will help to rouse you from your torpor:

"Fight, and you may get played out by Versteeg. Run, and you'll live, albeit under the pseudonym 'Jeff's Little Bitch.' And dying in your bed many years from now, would you be willing, to trade ALL THE DAYS, FROM THIS DAY TILL THEN, TO COME BACK HERE AND TELL STIGGY'S LANKY ASS THAT HE MAY BE FUNNIER, BUT HE'LL NEVER BE MAN ENOUGH TO WEAR A PINK SHIRT!"

I tire of this charade, Scoot. Trading snide comments back and forth is a poor substitute for a true match of wits. So pick a topic by Monday or you'll never hear the end of it.