Well, that's the sort of blinkered, philistine, pig-ignorance I've come to expect from you non-creative garbage. You sit there on your loathsome, spotty behinds, squeezing blackheads, not caring a tinker's cuss for the struggling artist.
You excrement! You whining, hypocritical toadies! With your color T.V. sets, and your Tony Jacklin golf clubs, and your bleedin' Masonic secret handshakes! You wouldn't let me join, would you, you black-balling, bastards! WELL I WOULDN'T BECOME A FREEMASON NOW, IF YOU WENT DOWN ON YOUR LOUSY, STINKING KNEES, AND BEGGED ME!!
E^D