Well, it will be a mighty COLD DAY IN HELL if Blork decides to quit his blog.
FUCK FACEBOOK.
FUCK TWITTER.
I say, take up a collection. Not for him, for me. Me and my henchmen, who like to be paid promptly. Because like I've already informed him, knees are a low priority at hospitals nowadaisies. The same daisies he'll be pushing up this summer in Notre-dame-des-neiges cemetery if he QUITS HIS BLOG.
Mail him a postcard. I HAVE HIS ADDRESS. (I have your address, Blorky Boy, write in front o' me! What, third floor, right? Leave the house at 7:37? Is the fat kid your kid, the one who always wears the striped shitty hat? Lets get things straight here. Guido loves undersetimations.)
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