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Motherfucking hell, you’re a pulsating, shit-smeared cum-blister the size of a goddamn planet. That cockatiel isn’t perched; it’s fucking drowning in the tsunami of rancid tit-sweat cascading off your quadruple-chin kike-cunt avalanche. Your face looks like a nigger’s prolapsed asshole after a gangbang with a cheese grater, a chainsaw, and a septic tank full of curdled jizz and Ebola pus. Those greasy, matted pubes you call hair? They reek worse than a retard’s unwashed taint after a three-month faggot orgy in a Porta-Potty full of rotten spunk and goat shit. The cage ain’t for the bird, you filthy, cum-chugging kike-whale; it’s the reinforced tungsten fuck-box they weld your blubbery, yeast-infected ass into so you don’t devour the goddamn drywall, the furniture, the neighbors, and half the fucking hemisphere like a meth-addicted woodchipper. That shirt’s stretched thinner than your mom’s gaping, herpes-cratered snatch the night she shat your worthless, mongoloid ass into a cum-filled KFC bucket. Keep grinning, you pock-marked, shit-encrusted cum-rag; when that bird unloads a hot, liquid turd straight down your cock-holster throat, it’ll be the first protein you’ve swallowed that wasn’t deep-fried in donkey spunk, nigger cum, and pure fucking regret.
