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My ideas are like flowers. They stink.

10 Things I Hate About You[edit]

I Hate the Way You Talk to Me[edit]

Your appalling accent is sickening. I mean, I've heard some whoppers in my time (I live in New South Wales, after all) but yours is close to being a linguistic zoo. Welsh, yokel, any atrocious accent ever to see the light of day is incorporated into your accent. You should be ashamed of yourself.

That’s not the only thing. Your absolutely foul breath makes those within 50 kilometres of your disgusting mouth get gassed like the poor Jews in Hitler’s concentration camps. If you ate a whole factory of mints you’d only kill 7 odd people when you exhaled. That is, without the mention of the people you drown with your phlegm. Seriously, you spit more times than a Pole does going through an entire speech.

Plus, your arrangement of words like Yoda makes you sound.

UnTitled UnFunny UnBook[edit]

As one does when one gets home from a holiday in Hawaii, Timothy Blunt wanted to boast about it to his adoring friends. However, Timothy knew that there were many more important things on the to-do-list, including 'find some adoring friends'.

Settling down into his favourite chair in his modest but messy lounge room, he found himself sitting on the remains of his ex-cat that he still hadn't got around to throwing out before he went. Tossing it aside, Timothy pondered whether or not he should check for messages on the new answering machine he bought on sale before he went but didn't really want.

"Who would have called me?" he said to firstly to himself, and then once more to the cat.