Fucking winkers. Don't wink at me. I don't know you like that. We don't have an unspoken thing. There's no secret. No telepathic inside joke. No simpatico, you fucking freak.
You trying to be sly? You attempting to give me some kind of hint that I'll know what the fuck you mean? Just what are you trying to tell me? Little Jimmy fell down the well? The eagle has landed? How yoooooou doin'?
What is that? Who does that? The sleezeballs and dorks, that's who. But whatever it is I don't care. I don't want to know. I want no part of your creepy, patronizing, 70's porn star insincere facial tick. It's weird. And icky. And frankly, it pisses me off. You might as well pat me on the head, of which you'll pull back a bloody stump, you smarmy fucking bastard.
Unless you have tourette's or a twitch, ENOUGH WITH THE WINKING!! You just leave that winking eye alone, Winker Winkerson. Blink like a normal person. Both eyes at the same god damn time.
And sweet fancy Moses, don't pair a fucking wink with double fucking finger guns. Fuck!
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