I baked a shit pie laced with rat poison and topped it with curdled sperm frosting, so inspired was I by bendan bendan's habit of soiling real bloggers' posts with comment spam hocking Made in China crapwear.
I sat bendan bendan down at the table in the kitchen of the lovely home I was housesitting at the time and deftly hogtied the little cretin to a chair with glee, so inspired was I to emulate the intricate ropework I come across from time to time doing late-night research on the growing problem of Internet porn.
I pulled out my nickle-plated long nose Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum and jabbed it puposefully into bendan bendan's temple while proffering my kitchen masterpiece, and said (in my very best Clint Eastwood voice), "eat some shit pie and die, bendan bendan, because if you don't I will blow your tiny brains all over this kitchen. And if I have to clean your brains up from the floor and walls of this lovely kitchen I am going to be truly pissed off."
Of course, I'd have preferred that someone minding the OS store saved us all the trouble and simply deleted bendan bendan's account. But there was the latest kitchen challenge and I am such a competitive little asswipe sometimes.
Help me baby Jesus; help me Tom Cruise.
What do I win?