This is rich if you enjoy a bipolar response to a schizoid difficulty—you insult me poorly like a a really childlike Paul Reuben skit, and then when you get your proverbial clock cleaned, you begin a rather Mr. Rogers-esque version of condescending backpedaling in the mode of the pantywaist whining of a Valley Girl in the fifteenth trimester of pregnancy.
You have posted nothing of value in response to me, and frankly, I stopped reading your blathering nonsense about three paragraphs into the 'belly of the kindergarten beast' from the 'self-professed king of an atheist monarchy'.
You have typed nothing worthy of a thoughtful response, and to date, you have only been awarded that which you deserve—credit for your SpongeBob SquarePants ad hominem. Luckily, I do not do 'childish', so I simply gave you an example of why you should never attack anyone who is clearly your superior in any scholastic endeavor or venue—science, history, theology, governance and civics, literature, or anything beyond the scope of your obvious limitations.
So if you have the means to browbeat me into submission with your inferior intellect and obese ego, prove it. Otherwise, you can return to insulting Norton badly, and when you attack me in the guise of offending Norton, I'll return and rip you the new asshole you deserve.
It never ceases to amaze me when people insult me poorly, and then find themselves cowering in the corner, beaten senseless into within an inch of their intellectual life, and then they profess their innocence while bastardizing every rule of civil discourse known to humankind, all in a vain effort to save themselves from obvious ridicule, albeit expected and well-deserved.
So let me put this in the nonsensical rap terms you might be able to comprehend within the framework of your obvious Linus' Security Blanket personae.'You ain't no gangsta, Charlie Brown.'
Is there anything else you would like to add, or are you just going to sit their with your flaccid penis in one hand, and your Nero's fiddle playing in the other? I did not burn your Rome—you set it on fire while attempting to sharpen your baby-teeth of intellect on my shin, and all the while you're complaining about the smoke coming out of your arse and garret.
You're operating a wit without a license or a clue. Awaken me when you reach remotely funny. Then I'll chuckle, pat you on the head, and let you return to your delusional world where you reign supreme—with your ilk of liberal idiots and socialist reach-around buddies at your side while you hang upon your cross of blatant foolishness and they hang upon your every word for intellectual sustenance. That explains why they're emaciated.
Your vocabulary lacks more than anyone could teach you in three generations, your grammar is relatively 'ordinary'—acceptable for a 'forum comprehension', and your personae would fit in rather nicely with the fifteen other voices buzzing around just inside the foil hat you wear so neatly.
Yet I must admit I did grin a little when you mentioned your 'philosophical superiority'. Methinks the gangsta rap has infested your mind with delusions of punctilious-yet-trite grandeur.
You might frighten some of these dolts, but frankly, I have socks older and smarter than you—and they are all neat, orderly, and semen free. Now wash your yellow-stained socks and hush. And please learn how to discern paragraphs and punctuation. If I am going to read a remedial version of Moby Dick, the least you could do is to 'trim the proverbial sails'.
Your bravado is cute. Yet that 'superior nonsense' made me chuckle again—maybe you do have the seeds of wit buried somewhere beneath that peach-fuzz face and token Cub Scout demeanor? How's this for wherewithal?
These three words should suffice for the epilogue: Gum me, Forrest.