Few pleasures in life are so intense as a good insult: the joy of constructing one on the spot, the delight in perfectly introducing it to your appalled audience, and the outraged response. Indeed, if a chap could slow time, and watch the slow creep of outrage across your target’s face, the looks of adoration on your admiring female subjects, and the flush of embarrassment your target experiences, it would be quite as enjoyable as watching a Volvo driver crash. No, there are few delights so rewarding as a good insult.
Even better is the pleasure of receiving a decent insult. Does anything quicken the heart so as a blow well struck? I for one am the proud bearer of Great British Teeth- crooked, yellow, and frightening to infants. When a chap (or older lady) remarks upon this entrancing eccentricity, I am compelled to smile broadly, displaying the decay and gruesomeness to fullest effect.
Now obviously I’m going to add a few thousand pages here, for this enticing subject demands further study. So be a tad patient, you son of a hairy-arsed, goat-titted, piranha-faced viper of a hag, and a glorious primer on this reassuringly masculine pastime shall be yours.
Insults are golden. Revel in the giving and the receiving, old bandicoot, I do. Cheerio!
Lord Byron. A complete bastard. You may not be able to live down to his standards, but it’s worth a try.
(image- public domain wikicommons)