Right, I say, you are one frivolously cheeky **** mate, I daresay I would handily best you in a fisticuffs, I promise on the Queen Mother's life. And I am certain you are frightened, you trifling swine, imploring your comrades to ring me up on the telephone, declaring that we shant engage in bare-knuckled combat, because you are an imposing mongrel of renowned size. It is hard to contain my audible laughter. I do say, mate, it is deplorable, indeed, truly calamitous, and it ably demonstrates what an anxious, miniature lad of questionable masculinity you are. And what is this bullocks your chums are sending me, about a web-site dedicated to the betterment of male muscular fitness? Good lord, sir, is this your choice arena to let your eyes linger upon those of the male gender? You insignificant, petty homosexual, ring me if you possess testicular fortitude, you abominable fiend, and see if you can rise to the occasion, nancy-boy.
