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You know, rather than watch your fail at the flame game, why don't I just send you a revolver so that you can play Russian roulette with all chambers fully loaded?

I've seen better arguments in a bowl of alphabet soup.

I've seen better comebacks from cross-dressing Tina Turner wannabes.

All you do is bitch and whine like a $10 whore who just got offered a top offer of $5.

I'd get more pleasure from running my nostrils down a cactus, than conversing with your sorry self.

I couldn't give an agitated gibbon's malignant left testicle about your semen soaked sob story. You stand no chance of verbally outlasting me.

If I needed advice from a spazz, I'd slap you on the back of your head and wake up that little peg legged hamster that operates the drool-powered waterwheel of thought in there. Until then, sit the fuck down in the corner and wait until I either speak to you or spit at you, got it fucko?

I sure hope, for your sake, that you don't have a dual personality. This one's bad enough.

Your mouth is getting too big for your muzzle.

Climb back into your possum hole and don't pop your pointy-head up again; in case I decide Groundhog Day came early and wallop it with a nail-spiked baseball bat, you clodhopping yokel.

If you ever waste my time again with another one of these sonnets to your stupidity, I will uppercut your jaw so hard that your head snaps backward and then snaps forward in perfect synchronicity for me to head butt you into a seven-year coma.

Shut up before I come over there and kick your nuts so hard they dislodge your tonsils into where your eyeballs used to be right before I grabbed your mother's dildo out of your father's ass and used it to poke your brain out through the back of your gimp cranium, Mr. Monotone Drone.

Shut up before I pull back that bulbous red nose of yours, let loose and watch your eyes light up like a pinball machine.

Button down that flapping upper lip of yours, goofy, before I staple it to the ceiling and watch you spin around like a fart-powered ceiling fan.

Shut your lollipop-sucking mouth before I ram your coned forehead up your gaping a-hole and make you dance the Macarena for coins outside your local charity, stupid.

Shush, or I will beat you like a dwarfish donkey jockey trying to take over a 747 with a rubber knife.

Shut up before I wire your eyeballs to a defibrillator; set the voltage to Kill, and smile as you go flying around the flashing coop like a beheaded multicoloured, fire-farting chicken before collapsing conveniently at my feet so I can piss-out the flames and feed the remains of your fried gimp carcass to the pigs.

Please try to have some small idea of what in the hell you're talking about before you speak again.

Shut your oversized mouth, unless you want me to rip you to pieces like a fillet steak thrown to the wolves.

Quit yapping like a little pink poodle with a perm and doggie diapers disorder, and don't punish us any longer, do a nose dive into a vat of sulphuric acid.

Shut up or I will burst through your gimproom door, beat you about the head, shoulders and asymmetrical fuckface with your Anal Destroyer Dildo Deluxe, drag you down the stale urine, dog shit, bodily fluids, and KY-Jelly covered hall by your single front bucktooth, bounce you down the stairs like a bloated blubber beach ball, past the hat stand that you're trying desperately to cling onto, through the front door of your hermit hovel, down the street filled with bemused onlookers and turned-over garbage cans, and straight into a boxing ring for further acts of unparalleled savagery.

If I want your opinion, I'll twist your ear and feed you a gobstopper, dimwit.

Shut it, before I jack-hammer your head into the concrete pavement and plant pretty plastic flowers in your a-hole, you brain-fried gimpzoid spazboy.

Talking to you is a fantastic experience, like discovering a new species of limpet.

If I wanted as much as the time of day out of you, I'd lay you out at high noon and read your beak like a fuckin' sundial, bitch.

Shut up, before I send you flying into the wall like a gay crash test dummy.

Cackling like a hen that just jumped up on the dinner table doesn't help you gain respect around here.

Silence yourself, before I nosedive your forehead into the ground like a Cessna in an Al-Qaeda workshop session.

I swear, if you don't shut the fuck up, I'll finger-fuck your eye sockets, get a bowling ball grip on your pumpkin head, and throw you back into the gutter where you belong.

You know what? You need to shut up before I throw a stick into the spokes of your rainbow-coloured Tandem and let the asphalt and curb do the work of beating you up for me.

I'll put on my sombrero and dance the La Cucaracha on your testicles if you don't shut the fuck up.

Don't you ever get tired of shooting yourself in the foot every time you open your mouth, Calamity Brain?

Thanks, I always wondered what chicken-shit, horse-shit, and bullshit would smell like if it was all mixed together in one post. Now I know.

Anything requiring a modicum of reality grasping just glides over your head like an overused, over-lubed, banana-shaped dildo. You are an experiment in Artificial Stupidity gone very, very wrong.

Any other enlightening remarks?

And your completely and utterly irrelevant point is...?

Are you always this mind-numbingly incoherent or are you going the extra mile today?

Another myoclonic seizure on the keyboard I see!

Wisdom eventually comes to all of us. Someday it might even be your turn.

A sharp tongue does not mean you have a keen mind, for if wit was chocolate you wouldn't have enough to fill an M&M.

Don’t you ever have a point beyond giving your fingers some exercise by dancing them randomly over the keyboard?

Oh look! Just 681473096 more days until anyone starts caring what you fucking think.

If I wanted to hear from an a-hole, I'd defecate.

If I want to hear from a rat-faced gimp, I'll either spit raw phlegm at you or waltz over there and piss on you. Until then, stick your head into your infected mange and let the stench knock you out already.

Shut up before I stick a red flag up your ass and throw you into a bull ring with a herd of cloned bulls genetically altered to ramrod gimps.

Shut up before I place an old black and white TV in your indoor scooter carrier basket and fasten it around your neck with a daisy chain of live rattlesnakes, and send you plummeting to your death off the fourth floor balcony to a standing ovation from the gallery below.

Stop whining like an old whore. I can't be bothered to slap you about your wrinkled gin-ravaged face any longer - it's too easy.

Be silent, you dingleberry-brained chuckling chump!

If all your comments were edited to remove the supernatural, the incomprehensible, the unreasonable, the impossible, the unknowable, and the plane absurd, you would be silent.

Do that trick again; the one where you open your mouth and your head disappears.

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**Stand up comebacks against a heckler:

I'm not really good with hecklers, but a friend who is good with hecklers wrote something down for me. Oh, yeah, "Fuck off!"

Why do you heckle me? For all you know I'm your father!

If you want to be on stage we'll switch places - you come up here and be funny, I'll go down there and act like an a-hole.

The difference between a comic and a cunt - is about ten feet.

You go home and tell this joke to your mum, because you still live with her.

To a heckler who has just got a laugh: That's pretty good, got another one? No? That's why I'm up here and you're down there.

Your parents must be cousins.

Isn't it a shame when cousins marry?

Shouldn't you be servicing gay men at the glory hole in the men's room at some sleazy bar downtown, like you usually do on Sunday evenings? Or did so many of your customers complain about your bad breath that your boss fired you?

You're ugly, your dick is short, no one likes you, shut the fuck up.

I don't have a lot of time for this so let's get it over quickly - you're ugly, your dick is small and everybody fucks your mother.

To someone who has just said "That's easy": 'So is your sister.'

To a man who has just implied the comedian is gay: You want to know if I'm gay - you and your girlfriend bend over and see who I fuck.

Save your breath, you'll need it to blow up your date later.

To a man who has just said "Fuck you!": 'Fuck me, and you'll never go back to women.'

Sorry, that's a low blow - Speaking of low blows, how's your wife?

To a heckler who has failed to respond to an insult: What's the matter? Got your tongue caught in a zipper?

Were your parents related?

I could have been your father but my brother beat me to it cause he had change for a fiver.

This is my job. I don't come into McDonalds and give you a hard time when you're at work.

This is my job. I don't knock the shovel out of your hand when you're at work.

Usually to a woman: This is my job. I don't knock the dick out of your mouth when you're at work.

This is my job. I don't come and put out your red light when you're at work.

This is my job. I don't show up at your job and unplug the Slurpee machine.

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**Dismissive insults. Used to belittle, demean, and to patronise your opponents. Show them that you are not impressed:

I just felt an instantaneous and unstoppable urge to inform you that you don't just suck like a supersonic jet engine on high-octane fuel; no, you are the singularity and event horizon of Suck: The Supermassive Black Hole of Suck. Yes, your Suck is so powerful that nothing - nothing - escapes its pull. Oh, did I mention that you suck? Have a nice day.

You may be the only person to have ever gotten AIDS from a toilet seat by sitting down before the last guy got up, and you may well have been voted "Man of the Year" by Time magazine for having had more meat between your buns than McDonald's, but what you fail to realise, Mr. Double Award Winner, is that all I want to hear from you is absolute silence.

I'm not saying you're a slut but you've put more balls in your mouth than the hungry hungry hippos.

I was going to suggest a game of "Spot The Spazz" but that's too easy at the moment.

I would love to insult you, but I'm afraid that I won't do as well as nature did.

Do yourself and your long-suffering parents a favour and go suck on a high-voltage cable.

Do yourself and everyone else the favour: take a fatal overdose of your medication.

You would be out of your depth in a car park puddle.

You pack less punch than a tree sloth throwing leaves.

You're not man enough to pull on stretch socks.

You're about as useful as a chocolate teapot.

Some people are have-beens. You're a never-was.

Talking to you is even worse than flogging a dead horse...it's like flogging its skeleton.

What you are - besides a pitiable little carnival freak - is a watery bowel movement bubbling back up to the surface after a pregnant water buffalo farts in a river.

Have you ever considered becoming a missing person?

Why do I hear the vacuous cackling of a psychiatric outpatient when you laugh?

What you lack in intelligence, you more than make up for in stupidity.

I haven’t heard an antiquated morsel of mediocrity talk such pathetic flaps of poppycock since.. well, come to think of it, since you last opened your piehole, you mouth-breathing mass of existential impotence.

I'm busy now. Can I ignore you some other time?

If I give you a going away present, will you do your part?

It's either silence or Armageddon, chucklehead.

You are less welcome than a reggae band at a KKK convention.

Your presence is as entertaining as a fire in an orphanage.

You are about as entertaining as a child's inflatable punching toy. You bop it, it springs back, you bop it again and you forget it ever existed. It slowly deflates in an unused corner, then one day you throw it away.

You are about as upbeat as a dirge, a requiem for the dead, as upbeat as an air raid siren, as upbeat as a death rattle, as upbeat as the shrill scream of a murdered infant.

You are about as popular as a French Kiss at a family reunion, as welcome as a rattlesnake at a square dance. People would only worship the ground you're buried in.

You have about as much charisma as a hungry leper and are about as welcome as a priest at a scout jamboree.

You have less personality than a TomTom.

You are as charming as a dead mouse in a loaf of bread, and as welcome as a turd on a toilet bowl.

You are the kind of person who, when one first meets you, one doesn't like you. But when one gets to know you better, one hates you.

You are a difficult man to forget. But it's worth the effort.

You have a knack of making strangers immediately.

Why don't you play on the train tracks and try to get your foot stuck when a train comes?

Has it not occurred to you that there is a difference between having an open mind and having a hole in your head?

I hope, pray and dream that you shall see a horse with a bloody dick fuck your virgin daughter on the grave of your dead mother, you moving stench of leprosy.

I hope and pray that you are facesat by an overweight rhino fed laxative.

You aren't even worth the appalling squandering of oxygen and water required to keep you from being maggot meat, you dungaree-sporting dufus. If life was fair, you would become a suicide bomber, you toe sucking terrorist.

Your total worth amounts to less than a urinal filled with drunk's piss. Do the world a favour: go skydiving without a parachute, you unicycle-pedalling blubberhead in floppy clown shoes.

You're worth less than a festering discharge from a leper's rectum in Calcutta. If you had any sense of decency, you'd throw yourself into an industrial incinerator, you inbred banjo-pickin' hillbilly.

Your total worth amounts to less than a fart from a flea's ass. Do the decent thing for once in your life and juggle chainsaws while drunk, you rectal rim-polishing runt with a patented Twist N' Tuck tongue technique.

You aren't even worth a shovel full of horse shit. Brighten the lives of your long-suffering parents: kiss the front of a speeding train, you victim of mis-prescribed medication.

You have less value than the shit stuck to your anal hairs. Brighten the lives of your long-suffering parents: do a swan dive into a waterless pool, you chromozone-botched cunt.

Stop singing like a witless Eunuch while rubbing Rogaine on your swollen manboobs in the hope of growing some chest hair and come away from that window you are wiggling your ass out thinking some passing stranger will grope it for the first sexual experience of your worthless life, and get over here so I can force-feed you a generous helping of Shut The Fuck Up.

You're worth less than the cunt hairs that fall off your grandmother. Do yourself and everyone else a favour: smear your behind with monkey pheromones and go flirt with some horny apes, you hopelessly-hideous half-wit.

Listen to me you beta-tester of rabies medication, as you are intellectually outclassed by dead sheep, go and put on a half cut pink vest and run through Mexico's darkest allies trouserless.

listen to me you toe-sucking spawn of a whore, If you had any sense of decency, you'd dress up in a bear costume and wander through the woods during hunting season.

You're worth less than a prostate gland from a dead pig in India. If you had any sense of decency, you'd throw yourself into a pit of horny tramps.

You disgust me with your ghastly presence, I am going to cover you with cheese, plant your face on a hot stove, and eat you later numbskull.

You have this certain nothingness; a quality that you rarely advertise enough.

A battle of wits with you is like a Rocky movie that ends in the first 3 seconds with you out cold; face slobber-kissing the blood-and-urine-soaked canvas; butt stuck up in the air, waiting for me to stick the winner's umbrella in there and open it up for the last thrill of your fag life, you mismatched armless Pygmy.

Congratulations. Your hollow, muddled, twaddle, has reached a new crescendo of unworthiness.

Stop babbling already. You have clearly lost your fingertip grip on reality and have descended into an abyss of irreversible lunacy.

I 'outta smash your pumpkin head with a sledgehammer of verbal abuse until you lose all use of language and are left with the words 'Please' 'Kill' and 'Me' as your only grasp of it.

You just can't stop yourself from coming back to bother us can you? You're like a severe case of herpes.

I bet you get perfect haemorrhoids because you're the perfect a-hole.

You dear boy, have the appeal of a mouldy, sweaty, over-worn sock.

You sir, have turned incompetence into an art form.

Whilst every girl has the right to be ugly, you seem to have abused that privilege!

Your value doesn't even amount to the Down Syndrome result of the escaped lunatic's sperm that fertilized your sister's rectum, Clown. Do the world a favour: go bungee jumping with the cord tied around your neck, you gangrene-brained straightjacket-escapee.

You are nothing more than the shit stuck to your anal hairs. If you had any sense of decency, you'd do a triple somersault through the air, and disappear up your own arsehole, you under-medicated utterly clueless quarterwit.

Don't be bitter at me because I'm superior to you and enjoy pissing on your self-esteem. Be bitter at your parents for mixing their genes and spawning you.

I'm better than you and always will be. It's not my fault, just a matter of natural selection.

Genius does what it must, talent does what it can, and you had best do what you're told.

You are nothing more than the contents of a slop bucket in an enema clinic. Do yourself and everyone else a favour: go skydiving without a parachute, you bucktoothed bubble-brained butthead.

Your value doesn't even amount to the juice squeezed from an old whore's soiled Tampon. Do yourself and everyone else a favour: hang yourself from the nearest lamp post, you Riverdancing Shirley Temple impersonator.

You are nothing more than the blood and urine-infested outer foreskin leftover from a jew's circumcision.

Once in a while you display occasional flashes of silence, making conversation with you perfectly delightful.

The purpose of this conversation is to allow you to humiliate yourself. And most will tell you it serves that purpose very well.

It is apparent that you and reality never got along and have now permanently parted ways with irreconcilable differences.

There's nothing wrong with you that couldn't be cured with a little Prozac and a polo mallet.

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**Some other random slander:

If you were ever kidnapped and eaten by a cannibal tribe, they'd all die of high cholesterol, you fat, flabby, fumbling fuck.

I would do anything for you, especially if it involved arranging your funeral.

I’ve wanted to go out with you ever since I read that stuff on the men’s bathroom wall years ago.

Take a deep breath and hold it until somewhere before the end of the 1844 Hunyadi Laszló overture.

Riverdance your way over to the cooler a-rap-a-tap-tap and fetch me a cold one, bitch.

I would probably find you more interesting had I studied psychology.

She's such a slut; she even swims after troop ships!

A threesome is rather ambitious for you. Try graduating from a onesome to a twosome first.

Don't try reading this: You may use your last three remaining brain cells.

I've seen glaciers that move faster than you.

I've got to listen to your senseless uber-babble? Your verbiage is more inflated than your dad's blow-up doll of Richard Simmons.

You have all the maturity of wine bottled yesterday.

No one likes you - even your Mother sent you a Christmas card with "Die Bitch!" written on it.

I'm not implying he's gay, but he and his poodle even have matching perms.

He has a great deal of pride, but precious little to be proud of.

He is the same old sausage, fizzing and sputtering in his own grease.

His men would follow him anywhere but only out of morbid curiosity.

He is a well-balanced individual - he has a chip on each shoulder.

Her morals are lower than the fluff in an earthworm's belly button.

You're a prime candidate for natural deselection. It's hard to believe you beat a million other sperm.

I'd tell you to go fuck yourself and the horse you rode in on, but looking at that stupid grin on your face, I'd say you already have.

You are well accustomed to dart stings from elephant guns, cattle prods, tear gas canisters, and other protective devices used to keep your buffalo-sized lust-fuelled mass away from those terrified, hapless victims it stampedes towards.

You have a condition known as Optical Rectalitus. That's where the nerve in the eye crosses the nerve in the rectum. It gives you a shitty outlook on life.

His favourite sexual position is bending over a stranger's lap at his local Simmons Sauna, screaming: "Smack my ass, and tell me I'm just like my mother!" and "I want to be reincarnated as Michael Jackson's anal dildo!"

If you can laugh at yourself... you've got a really sick sense of humour.

I can tell that you're one of those guys who puts coins in parking metres and waits for gobstoppers to drop out.

You don't need to be a gay expert to tell that you are a sausage jockey: you look like a Sherry-sipping Frenchman in a miniskirt.

Your DNA twists in agony at the fact that it's committing an obscene crime by replicating.

If you'll stop telling lies about me, I'll stop telling the truth about you.

You are as hopeless as trying to slash your way through your mother's hairy gash with a pair of nail clippers.

Quit with the reality-altering drugs before what’s left of your brain turns to mush and starts oozing out of your nostrils and drips onto your keyboard, you gone-to-Disneyland-in-the-head-and-never-coming-back untreatable mental patient.

I'm not alluding to the fact that you may be less than heterosexual, but do you often have sex with men?

Grab your ears and pull - you may just be able to yank your head out of your behind.

You should face legal action for your attempts to impersonate a human.

His right hand later trapped itself in a machine and was amputated, rather than continue to have 'sex' with him.

Why don't you drill a large hole into the side of your head? That way when people call you a dumb cunt, you will actually have an excuse.

I suggest you commit yourself to a Psychiatric hospital before what is left of your feeble mind disappears, and you be left strapped upright in a chair; fed mushy peas (and other non-solids) with a rubber spoon in a darkened room with only your tortured and erratic fantasies for comfort, and occasional self-pleasuring.

I thought I saw you in town the other day, but it was just an oily rag in the gutter.

Rumour has it he wasn't actually born, more something that germinated from a discarded test tube contaminated by an over-masturbating syphilitic laboratory technician's spunk in Guatemala.

You're the kind of guy who buys STDs from a viral lab just to make it look like you get laid.

He saw his function in life as being to raise human suffering to a higher level; and he was extremely well equipped with a naturally obnoxious personality to do just that.

How about putting that into proper syntax, form, and grammar so I can at least understand what the fuck you're saying before I dismiss it?

You've got a big gaping hole in your head, now shut it.

You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.

I desire that we be better strangers.

Go rim a skunk you contemptibly contrived cunt.

With the whole world full of fools, there is none who thinks himself one, or even suspects it.

As it's the Happy Holiday season, may the Dove of Peace shit in your mouth.

You are an indescribably foul barbarian.

Your personality is infectious - but then so was the bubonic plague.

You are an incalculably incorrigible reptile and a decrepit, odiously suffocating spawn of a mad scientist and a disastrous test tube experiment.

You are a waste of organic matter, a walking vat of malodorous compost, and a leprous oxygen thief. I'm sure your parents are proud of your cretinous behaviours. Please, let darwinism do its thing and let you perish seedless, penniless and forsaken.

You are the sorry result of an aborted inbred foetus that escaped the hospital and was raised by wild boar.

You are a cruelly babbling derelict and a putrid, soul-destroying pulp of stultifying inanity.

You are a conspicuously uncouth malefactor and a petty, Internet-addicted excrement stain on a Sumo Wrestler's underpants.

You are an incalculably demented subhuman and a revolting, chromosome deficient mediocrity afflicted with mental retardation.

You are an unutterably vulgar imbecile, and a vapid, dandruff-eating bum-buggering bandit.

You are a doltishly deviant dullard, and an agonizingly incompetent mass of loathsome ineptitude.

You are a devilishly decadent and outrageously primitive primate.

You are a callously credulous libertine and an exhaustingly dull-witted mutilation of decency.

You are an aberrantly rank hoodwinker, and an HIV-spreading, sheep-molesting, chromosome-deficient yokel.

You are a despicably dehumanized derelict, and a catastrophically ham-fisted host of drivel and malarkey.

You are an irredeemably hopeless lackey, and a vastly inferior vulgarity to all and sundry.

You are a loathsomely maladjusted swine, and an armpit-licking, nipple-flicking, willy-hitting, hysterical mass of warbling inanity.

You are a shockingly salacious wretch, and a scruffy-looking toll on the nerves of those with good taste and decency.

You are a hopelessly inadequate scrub, and a mouth-breathing, bottom-feeding boor of insignificance.

You inattentively woeful cock-sucking serf.

You condescendingly conceited little shit shover.

You are a condescending and caddish little bore.

You boorishly asinine reprobate.

You unfunny clown in a glitter-sprinkled dunce cap! You're a clueless gimp, aren't you?

See? You're too fucking clueless to see how clueless you are, you frontal lobe amputee.

You are such a condescending and belligerent little imp, whose insignificance is only eclipsed by your mind-numbing naiveté.

Your behaviour is so typically condescending and caddish, that it almost distracted me from your oh-so-predictable avatar. Almost.

You fatalistically perverse, faeces-smuggling, soul-destroying dreck, whose natural odour could kill an entire herd of elephants.

You fiendishly cannibalistic, preposterously repulsive, buttock-rimming, matress-soiling, one dimensional muff-diving miscreant.

You window licking, grandma-molesting, jock strap-licking, shit-munching, boil-nibbling, dick-brained cum bubble!

You animal-raping, underwear-stealing, glue-sniffing, internet-addicted victim of DNA modulation!

You knuckleheaded, baboon-groping, crotch-licking, snot-gobbling, hemorrhoid-nibbling, butt-brained assclown!

You soap-dropping, cheek-spreading, bottom-feeding, dick-guzzling, cum-gurgling, fuck-brained cockweasel!

A curse upon you, you moving stench of leprosy, may you awake to find a horny gay rattlesnake in your bed, shoved up your cunt.

A curse upon you, you spawn from an inbred donkey's cunt, may you be chased across the sahara desert by a troupe of gay horny camels.

A curse upon you, you odious leach-covered blob of quivering slime, may you turn into a frog; a stork eat you, and shit you from a 500 metre height.

I curse you, you inhabitant of Sodom, may you be dragged through the sty by a demented pig.

I curse you, you spawn from a lunatic's rectum, may you be trampled to death by a herd of bargain-hunting fat ladies at a summer sale.

A curse upon you, you menace to the innocent, may you have your gonads stung by a swarm of African bees.

A curse upon you, you melon sucking, hamster stroking, anal invader!

Mark my words, you malodorous heathen, may you be stung by a thousand angry scorpions.

Mark my words, you salacious rapscallion, for an escaped lunatic WILL find your anus.

Mark my words, you ridiculous excuse for life, for an angry dog has a hard on.. and he's got game.

We all pray that you will parachute naked into the world's prickliest cactus, you cesspool of sub-human filth.

May the peanuts from a monkey's shit sandwich fly through the air and find it's way into your worthless oversized mouth.

May you soar like an Eagle - and get sucked into a Jet Engine.

I'm gonna stick my boot so far up your jackson that you'll be spit-shining it with your tongue.

You won't have time to, 'coz I'll put on my sombrero and dance the La Cucaracha on your testicles if you don't shut the fuck up first!

Shouldn't you be using your lumpy triangular forehead to operate your Speak N' Spell so soon after your cerebellum amputation, you agitated gibbering banana-shaped dildo-sucking cum-farting babbling butthead?

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For 1000 Years art has been one of our great civilising forces. Today, pickled sheep and soiled beds threaten to make barbarians of us all. - DAILY MAIL said of Damien Hurst.

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