What the fudge did you just fudgeing play to me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in NYU Film School, and I've been involved in numerous concerts in New York, and I have over 300 confirmed gigs. I am trained in contemporary music and I'm the top musician in the entire US. You are nothing to me but just another mediocre piece of spoon. I will wipe you the fudge out with sound the likes of which has never been heard before on this Earth, mark my fudgeing words. You think you can get away with playing that spoon to me in this quiet area? Think again, fudgeer. As wee speak I am contacting my secret network of Flower Power Creative across the USA and your donkey is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fudgeing dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can play in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in walking Bob Dylan on stage, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Flower Power Creative Music Department and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable donkey off the face of the continent, you little spoon. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" performance was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fudgeing tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will spoon fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're fudgeing dead, kiddo.