I'm Gonna Kick Your Arse

Recently, I have found myself subject to a fair bit of sass online.  The culprit knows who they are and shall not be named for privacy reasons, but let it be known that this person is aware of the low down, dirty deeds they have been committing.  Rest assured though that I am going to kick their arse.

Let this statement of intent ring out across the Internet.  Don’t say I haven’t given you fair warning for your impending arse-kicking.  Let it come as no surprise when foot meets buttock with stinging justice.  However, a simple kick of the old arse isn’t going to suffice in this instance.  There’s a whole list of vengeful acts I intend to commit upon you.  Here’s what you can expect to happen to you over the next few days/weeks/months/years.

One day, you’re going to come downstairs and find a parrot in your living room.  You have no idea where this parrot has come from, but hey, it’s a free parrot so you decide to keep it.  At first, the parrot seems perfectly pleasant as it whistles contentedly to itself and only ever says “Who’s a pretty boy?”  However, a few days later it suddenly starts shouting “You’re a cock!”  As the days pass, the parrot that you’ve now grown so attached to starts learning more and more swear words.  Unprompted, it starts calling you a "Cock Goblin" and declares you to be "Twattish" at best.  It even begins to coin new swear words such as “Cludgey Hole” and “Shitacular”.  This culminates in a dinner party in which your guests are individually insulted by this horrific bird, then subjected to racist and homophobic abuse.  Your friends will all hate you as a result.

After this, I’m also going to start moving items around your home during the night.  First I’ll start off small by putting the remote between the sofa cushions, but slowly, I’ll build up to bigger items such as your Sky Box in the shower,  bleach in your rabbit’s water bottle, and your dining table on the roof of your shed.  You’ll suspect this is all the work of a poltergeist, and call in an exorcist to fend off the demons.  Before long, your house will appear on Britain’s Most Haunted, subjecting you to a fierce infestation of Derek Acorah.

Who you gonna call?

Once that’s over with, I’m going to start leaving post-it notes around your house that say “I know what you did!”.  On the first day, there will be just one note, and you'll just think it's someone in your household kidding around.  The second day, there will be two notes, and so on until a few months later when your entire is plastered with these notes.  You’ll wrack your brain trying to figure out what it is that you have done.  Was it the time when you told your boss that you’d seen Phil photocopying his nipples to remove him from the running for promotion?  Was it the dick pics you sent on those anonymous imaging sharing apps?  Perhaps it was when you forgot to feed the cat for three days in a row?  The relentless nature of this event will start to drive you insane.

After that has concluded, I’m just going to knock on the door and tell you that you suck, that you smell, and you’re a stupid baby.  This will be the straw that finally breaks the camel’s back.  You’ll sob uncontrollably for the rest of your life until you are committed to a mental asylum and lobotomised.  I will then declare victory and throw a celebration at your family home in honour of the occasion.

Rest assurred, you will rue the day you messed with Addman J. Addmanson.



P.S. could you cut a front door key for me?  No particular reason, I just reckon it might come in handy.  Thanks in advance.