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Fuck you opfor Fuck you and every blade of grass upon which you have ever trodden May your next milk be sour and your next cold beverage be warm and spoiled May your trek to Valhalla be brought short by a hundred angry Anglo Saxons May your trip to nirvana be curtailed by all of the caliphs wrath May you never ascend because of your hijinkery As you are clearly not capable of tricknology you will tear your own insides apart in the depths of your hijinkery No, I have but nothing left For the apple bsod has left me barren and dry And here I am with my sole key Bringing you a battle cry It ain’t over til I say it’s over You may have brought me back months and months of work that were only on this computer You may have slowed the dragon But the beast has only just begun It is security via contusion And I assure you it is working.