I say you are not as wise as a monkey.

How do you know a monkey is wise?

Let me blow your mind. A monkey is ancient, you are new, a monkey has wisdom, you have plastic guts, even the dew upon them is not real.

What know you of my guts, what fond society has created you to speak of such ill-begotten things.

‘Twere they ill begotten?  Did your mother steal them from a factory?  Is your soul plastic too? Push paper tasteless man. Crush thy neighbor do you? We shall see about that.                                                                 

I never crush my neighbour, I suggest.    

Oh you lily-livered pundit of yore, push head front to.  

The pigment is feeble excuse for dead youth.

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