Thou wimpled pox-marked pumpion!
Thou spleeny rough-hewn horn-beast!
Thou dissembling fly-bitten foot-licker!
Thou wayward dizzy-eyed mammet!
Thou churlish weather-bitten bum-bailey!
Thou paunchy boil-brained haggard!
Thou odiferous dizzy-eyed mammet!
THE DEVIL DAMN THEE BLACK, THOU CREAM FACED LOON!
Ah, Shakespeare. He knows how to cuss. He could fuckin' cuss for England. In fact, if they had one of those rap showdowns, like in 8 mile (I don't like the title, surely it should be 8 miles, or, more correctly, Eight Miles, or, even better, to fit in with the modern metric system, Twelve Point Eight Seven Kilometers), Shakespeare could ruin Eminem's shit in an INSTANT.
*The club is full of dancing brothers, all dressed up in gold and polyester and huge hats with feathers in them. Somebody is playing some phat electric beats down on an accordion. The two rappers are on the stage; Eminem, dressed like a penguin, and Shakespeare, in full Elizabethan regalia. With a bandanna.*
Eminem: Yo, man, fuck, you so ugly, you real ugly, oh yeah, ugly... bugly, oh yeah! I'M EMINEM! YO! My mother beat me. YO!
WS: Thou warped knotty-pated puttock!
*Eminem faints, and is carried off by stretcher ants.*
WS: Now, whichest of thou bawdy common-kissing giglets wishest to step unto the stage and CHALLENGE ME?
The entire club, full of angry black men, slowly moves towards the exit, leaving only one man to take up the challenge. Boris Johnson MP.
WS: And nowest we begin.
BJMP: Spin the wheel, raggety man!
*The accordion player picks up a tune, and now I've lost interest in this story. But you could probably see where I was going with it.
Yeah, good. Uh, thats all for now.
This was a pretty half assed post, really. Most of it was copied from another website. Still, if you want more half assed work and badly thought through policies, vote for ME on May 5!
One more thing:
Thou droning swag-bellied varlot!
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