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A letter from one of the more intelligent VHLINKS.com Van Hagar fans...
A letter from a Van Hagar sheep from VHLinks.com:
Dear Fukin Bastard Rothtards:
Is this website your life? Is this what you do in spare time...sit at your computer and answer stupid questions like this? How old are youz? You're probably all fukin 45 year old fucks who hasn't gotten laid in a fukin decade! Yah, I know you're probably thinking about how you're gonna dis me and make me cry.... or whatever gets you off. But, I just want to tell you that I'm a better flamer than you who flames in real forums on Usenet and not a lousy web site. I get laid regularly... and I don't give a fukin shit. I'm not the one with the problems. I'm not the one who lives beside their computers and answers gay questions and hate mail from other gay ass people. What kinds of dumb fucks would anyone ask you for advice? The world is really big and there's lots of shrinks out there....my advice is GET ONE.
Bastard-Hater
My Response:
Bastard-Hater, sub-literate babbling blockhead:
Hi, Bastard-Hater. Isn't lunacy a grand thing? I know that you're busy rubbing some Ben Gay on your swollen lactating manboobs after you've finished your daily colonic, but I just wanted to take a moment to say hello and good-bye and to wish that pile of maggot infested shit that constitutes your being a pleasant journey along the superhighway. Now, I won't say it's been fun knowing you because obviously no-one would believe it. In truth, it's just another uninspiring game of Whack-A-'Tard. But, to you, it's more than that, isn't it? As you sit there tied to a radiator in your roach-infested, meth-producing, piss-stained, government-assisted housing project with your mouth full of cum drained from a dead bull's immense testicles purchased from your local abattoir, wishing that a few ladies would join together and jack you off until you scream like a spoiled little school girl for them to stop, you dream above all that Bastard would recognize your greatness and accept you into the fold for fear of your mighty wrath. Right? Sure, that's right. But that just isn't going to happen: no way; no how. Just like those ladies aren't going to come and jack you off. Even Uncle "tug the snake till he spits" Gerry doesn't do that to you anymore - not since you sprouted hair on your balls. Besides, you took too much pleasure in fingering his ass and licking his shit off your finger like it was McRib ketch-up sauce and you hadn't eaten for a week. Now, alas, your sexual experience consists of dressing your Alsatian puppy in little leather hot pants with a patch cut in the rear for quick access - like those filthy San Francisco faggots wear during Mardi Gras week - and smearing Pedigree Chum on your genitalia so he'll lick it off. What the hell is WRONG with you anyway? Listen, it's bad enough that you blew your allowance on 'The Terminator' screensaver, but to call yourself a "flamer" makes my ass itch violently! You, Dullard, are as witless as Australians; boring as the English; ball-sack challenged as the French, and unimportant as the Canadians. Were the option available to you, I would suggest you delete all of the truly pitiful cries for help you posted in my inbox, and go back to flaming kids and adult simpletons on alt.fans-of-harry-potter. You should seek professional help, and having me dress you up to look like a metaphorical Barbie Doll is not "help". Why you submit yourself to such humiliation is beyond the grasp of all except fully-qualified mental health workers, but I'll warrant it relates to what your uncle did to you. No-one likes you here, there, or anywhere. Right? When your best friend is a dirty toilet brush which you stuck two cardboard eyes on (and you suspect he doesn't even like you), then it's time to call it a day, my repugnant, tutu-wearing, self-abusing, fudgepacking friend. Maybe it's not your fault; not enough love from your mom - God help her $2 ass. But listen you pastry-skinned, delicate, little ass-fairy, late at night after mommy and this week's boyfriend finally pass-out from the barrel of beer and ass-sex in the back of the double-wide, do NOT fire up the new Made-In-Guatemala computer you got for Christmas and sit up all night wearing your favorite black panties posting anymore of your weak, Disney-rated, unoriginal crap thinking it is the product of a flaming legend. It isn't! Yes, it would be nice if you had any balls since they will never be used for anything else, but instead you feed your rich pink fantasy life here on the web and with a masterful command of two-syllable words and rehashed material and pretend to be some bizarre version of an Evil Powder Puff Girl. Go look at porn or try "ImAlotMoreSensitiveThanOtherBoys.com" or try "CuteBoysBeatMeUpButNotOffEveryDay.com" you effeminate, self-loathing ass-pirate waste of skin! My dear delusional, bacteria-infested friend, it seems that against all laws of nature, logic and, indeed, justice you have found acceptance in the rancid shithouse we call Usenet along with all the other mentally challenged lemur-molesting depraved son's of bitches the good lord saw fit to expunge through his back passage. May I, at the risk of offending you, suggest that although this little "I Want To Be A Real Flamer In Usenet" project of yours is keeping you off the streets and out of decent folks sight for a few hours of your sister-beating, llama-sodomizing, poodle-buggering deranged existence, suggest that you hand yourself over to the government for medical experiments, extermination, or so they can lock you in a steel cage with your hands bound with some violently horny enraged gorillas. Failing these actions, you lead me to point out the fact that although you are probably home to various germs as yet unknown to human science, every breath you take is an outrageous waste of precious oxygen. Do the decent thing and donate your carcass to science like a good man. Now, technically I do not know how to address you? You could be male or female. I'm leaning more towards none of the above; probably a rare combination of alien and mutated whale sperm that was left in a Petri dish for way to long, like your leader Mr. Hagar. What sparked things to grow in the Petri dish? I'm putting my money on Colt 45, the very liquid that you were nursed on right after you hatched. Anyway, listen Bitch, and I call you that because I feel we are friends now and I can use your first name, I have pimples on my ass that are more interesting than you. My bowel movements are more creative than your best efforts of impotent, pre-pubescent cries for help. I can't convey my disgust with words alone so I'll spit on this reply. No hard feelings, huh? Have a nice... well, just go fuck yourself. No; wait - you are already doing that, you Hagarita Sheep freak.
I hope this helps
Roth-Bastard
Dear Fukin Bastard Rothtards:
Is this website your life? Is this what you do in spare time...sit at your computer and answer stupid questions like this? How old are youz? You're probably all fukin 45 year old fucks who hasn't gotten laid in a fukin decade! Yah, I know you're probably thinking about how you're gonna dis me and make me cry.... or whatever gets you off. But, I just want to tell you that I'm a better flamer than you who flames in real forums on Usenet and not a lousy web site. I get laid regularly... and I don't give a fukin shit. I'm not the one with the problems. I'm not the one who lives beside their computers and answers gay questions and hate mail from other gay ass people. What kinds of dumb fucks would anyone ask you for advice? The world is really big and there's lots of shrinks out there....my advice is GET ONE.
Bastard-Hater
My Response:
Bastard-Hater, sub-literate babbling blockhead:
Hi, Bastard-Hater. Isn't lunacy a grand thing? I know that you're busy rubbing some Ben Gay on your swollen lactating manboobs after you've finished your daily colonic, but I just wanted to take a moment to say hello and good-bye and to wish that pile of maggot infested shit that constitutes your being a pleasant journey along the superhighway. Now, I won't say it's been fun knowing you because obviously no-one would believe it. In truth, it's just another uninspiring game of Whack-A-'Tard. But, to you, it's more than that, isn't it? As you sit there tied to a radiator in your roach-infested, meth-producing, piss-stained, government-assisted housing project with your mouth full of cum drained from a dead bull's immense testicles purchased from your local abattoir, wishing that a few ladies would join together and jack you off until you scream like a spoiled little school girl for them to stop, you dream above all that Bastard would recognize your greatness and accept you into the fold for fear of your mighty wrath. Right? Sure, that's right. But that just isn't going to happen: no way; no how. Just like those ladies aren't going to come and jack you off. Even Uncle "tug the snake till he spits" Gerry doesn't do that to you anymore - not since you sprouted hair on your balls. Besides, you took too much pleasure in fingering his ass and licking his shit off your finger like it was McRib ketch-up sauce and you hadn't eaten for a week. Now, alas, your sexual experience consists of dressing your Alsatian puppy in little leather hot pants with a patch cut in the rear for quick access - like those filthy San Francisco faggots wear during Mardi Gras week - and smearing Pedigree Chum on your genitalia so he'll lick it off. What the hell is WRONG with you anyway? Listen, it's bad enough that you blew your allowance on 'The Terminator' screensaver, but to call yourself a "flamer" makes my ass itch violently! You, Dullard, are as witless as Australians; boring as the English; ball-sack challenged as the French, and unimportant as the Canadians. Were the option available to you, I would suggest you delete all of the truly pitiful cries for help you posted in my inbox, and go back to flaming kids and adult simpletons on alt.fans-of-harry-potter. You should seek professional help, and having me dress you up to look like a metaphorical Barbie Doll is not "help". Why you submit yourself to such humiliation is beyond the grasp of all except fully-qualified mental health workers, but I'll warrant it relates to what your uncle did to you. No-one likes you here, there, or anywhere. Right? When your best friend is a dirty toilet brush which you stuck two cardboard eyes on (and you suspect he doesn't even like you), then it's time to call it a day, my repugnant, tutu-wearing, self-abusing, fudgepacking friend. Maybe it's not your fault; not enough love from your mom - God help her $2 ass. But listen you pastry-skinned, delicate, little ass-fairy, late at night after mommy and this week's boyfriend finally pass-out from the barrel of beer and ass-sex in the back of the double-wide, do NOT fire up the new Made-In-Guatemala computer you got for Christmas and sit up all night wearing your favorite black panties posting anymore of your weak, Disney-rated, unoriginal crap thinking it is the product of a flaming legend. It isn't! Yes, it would be nice if you had any balls since they will never be used for anything else, but instead you feed your rich pink fantasy life here on the web and with a masterful command of two-syllable words and rehashed material and pretend to be some bizarre version of an Evil Powder Puff Girl. Go look at porn or try "ImAlotMoreSensitiveThanOtherBoys.com" or try "CuteBoysBeatMeUpButNotOffEveryDay.com" you effeminate, self-loathing ass-pirate waste of skin! My dear delusional, bacteria-infested friend, it seems that against all laws of nature, logic and, indeed, justice you have found acceptance in the rancid shithouse we call Usenet along with all the other mentally challenged lemur-molesting depraved son's of bitches the good lord saw fit to expunge through his back passage. May I, at the risk of offending you, suggest that although this little "I Want To Be A Real Flamer In Usenet" project of yours is keeping you off the streets and out of decent folks sight for a few hours of your sister-beating, llama-sodomizing, poodle-buggering deranged existence, suggest that you hand yourself over to the government for medical experiments, extermination, or so they can lock you in a steel cage with your hands bound with some violently horny enraged gorillas. Failing these actions, you lead me to point out the fact that although you are probably home to various germs as yet unknown to human science, every breath you take is an outrageous waste of precious oxygen. Do the decent thing and donate your carcass to science like a good man. Now, technically I do not know how to address you? You could be male or female. I'm leaning more towards none of the above; probably a rare combination of alien and mutated whale sperm that was left in a Petri dish for way to long, like your leader Mr. Hagar. What sparked things to grow in the Petri dish? I'm putting my money on Colt 45, the very liquid that you were nursed on right after you hatched. Anyway, listen Bitch, and I call you that because I feel we are friends now and I can use your first name, I have pimples on my ass that are more interesting than you. My bowel movements are more creative than your best efforts of impotent, pre-pubescent cries for help. I can't convey my disgust with words alone so I'll spit on this reply. No hard feelings, huh? Have a nice... well, just go fuck yourself. No; wait - you are already doing that, you Hagarita Sheep freak.
I hope this helps
Roth-Bastard
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