What in the heck did you just friggin say aboot me, you greasy American? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on counterfeit maple syrup operations, and I have over 300 buckets of the stuff in my garage. I am trained in politeness and apologizing for things that you did, and I’m the top Mountie in the entire RCMP. You are nothing to me but just another fat American. I will clean the grease you left on your chair with a chesterfield cushion the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my friggin words you hoser. You think you can get away with saying that stuff to me over the Internet? Think again, frigger. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of Moose hunters across Canada and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, eh. The storm that will ruin any chance of having delicious pancakes. You’re friggen done, eh. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can outplay you in hockey in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in figure skating, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the NHL and I will use it to its full extent to embarrass you in hockey, you little hoser. If only you could have known what punishment your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your friggin tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you silly American. I will spill beer all over you and you will drown in it. You’re friggin dead, eh. MErf.