Hey, fuckhead. Yeah, you. Fuckhead.

I love diesel.

The reason I love diesel is because sniffing it makes you mad. You. Yeah, that’s right. You. You’re my target. Your rage for my love of diesel fulfils me. Yes, I know it is bad for my health and I have every type of lung cancer, but I don’t care.. And there is nothing you can do to stop me. Not only am I going to sniff diesel over and over and over again, but I am going to group sniff diesel. That’s right, i’m going to gather all my friends and we’re going to all sniff diesel. Especially my best friends. Right now, my best friends are realizing that sniffing diesel actually does make you angry. They realize, like I do, that you think of diesel as your own private little utopia of a fuel that gets ruined when the common class stumbles upon it like oblivious tourists.

Well it isn’t, you pretentious fucks. These cans of diesel are open to the public. They aren’t yours. You’re nothing special for telling us our diesel is bad for us. No one gives a shit that you are healthy and don’t snif diesel, and in fact, they laugh at your grandiose opinion of my diesel sniffing. It’s just a can of diesel. It’s not even the first. After frequently sniffing diesel without any thought of how bad it might be, I sniff diesel all day and you’re just a whiny little faggot fuckwit for actually getting angry at complete strangers for sniffing diesel.

Go fuck yourself. No, really. Grab a poison-tipped cactus and go fuck yourself. Then go give your mom another hug to compensate for her fat ass not getting any hugs nor diesel. It’s the only way you know how to pay rent, and for that fucking diesel. Cunt.