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Tell me, what exactly is wrong with you? Don't tell me, ?Nothing.? I know there has to be something; there always is. Are you a pindick loser with a cock the size of an ingrown hair? Are you a pantywaisted sissy bitch who can't act like a man? Maybe you're the useless, worthless wimp of a husband your wife laughs about as she's getting fucked by someone else?
Whatever the specifics of your situation are, suffice to say you can be summed up with one word: pathetic. I am sure you're aware that a beautiful, desirable, intelligent woman like myself would never pay attention to you outside of providing the gut-wrenching, ego-shattering derision a bitchboy like you deserves. If it wasn't for money or amusement, do you think I'd ever look twice at you? Certainly you're not delusional enough to believe that.
I love jeering at bottom-feeding, unimportant scum like you. It truly brings a smile to my face to give you a brutal tongue-lashing that leaves you whimpering and sobbing. You belong alongside the dirt beneath my feet, and I love reminding of you of that fact. My sadistic streak is a mile wide, and I have no patience, empathy, or concern for your inferior feelings. When you're in the presence of this Mistress of Mean, you're simply the insignificant dreg I use as my verbal punching bag. And believe me, I don't pull punches.
Remember this: don't waste my time begging for mercy. I'd rather hear you cry instead.