Oh Lord (not you, you hypochondroplasic nut-sack), I woke up my Mastiff by laughing hysterically when catching up on your trail of tears, feces and joint fags. I have tempted the urge to utterly put you back to your proper place in the straitjacket through redeeming real-life acts, but now's quite the irresistible opportunity. I am considering whether I should allow you a pseudo-honorable seppuku-door out or not.
I'll spare 8x2 letters for you still out of courtesy: AHAHAHahahahahah!

Oh by the way,
please don't show up to the unilateral asset division and listing, re-evaluation and purposing of the stocks, because I'll be the one with the hammer in hand and it seems we all have a bone to pick. You're nothing but a crooked rusted nail and I'll have you pulled out of the puss most likely, as your theatrics are not enough for justifying your prolonged existence in an otherwise potential organization. You forgot the golden rule of not biting the hand that feeds you, my petite misogynist (feminine) beta cur - You are not useful to us by definition, and now you are nothing but a no-one, incapable of becoming a self-made man.
Oh wait, doesn't this sound awfully familiar to a previous entrepreneur attempt of yours, hmm? Oh my! The world does spin around and around and around.

Keep on cruising with the handlebars still, they suit your neoborn reverse-karmic chakra. Class act.
Let us know when you're ready for the backlash. Bring your new Estonian asslicker-club too. The bar won't be accepting your Markka though. If you behave I might offer them a round.

So long, ta ta my dear!
-L25.5 F, Demi-mother-FUCKING-god & co.