"Grrrr, doesn't that [REDACTED] just make you so angry? Don't you want to take this [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] his [REDACTED] in?" he says, eyes angry and fixated. His slightly sweat-stained "GAS THE KIKES, RACE WAR NOW!" t-shirt expanding and relaxing with each breath, the unique map of wrinkles on which remapped each time - like a cotton-polyester Pangaea. "Why do I smell jelly donuts and FrogLube?" you think to yourself...