What the bejaysus did ye just bloody say about me, ye pox riddled rat-scrotum? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Leprechaun Academy, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on de Brits, and I have over 300 confirmed bloody noses and black eyes dealt out to them. I am trained in bogman warfare and I'm the top piper in the entire Emerald Isle armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another turnip. I will give ye a thrashin' with a drunken fury the likes of which has never been seen before in de local pub, so I will. Ye tink ye can get away with talkin that blather to me over the Internet? Think again, ye scrawny little bollix. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of little folk across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for a good thrashin', ye bollix. The thrashin' that confusticates the mangy little thing ye call yer life. You're feckin kilt ded, kid. I can materialize anywhere, anytime, and I can kick ye in the snot in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare arse tied behind me back! Not only am I extensively trained in drunken pub brawls, but I have access to the entire Guinness supply of the local pub and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shite. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little smart arse comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held yer fecking noise. But ye couldn't, ye didn't, and now you're paying the price, you feckin' eejit. I will shite fury all over you and you will drown in it. Yer fecking dead, kiddo.