I'm so mad at you right now - your filthy, slippery body and your harsh moon-language squeals during the orgasms you earn from the most abominable, loathesome sources, your rapturous convulsions at the sight of potential food source/bodily orifice combinations, your little hands and impossible promises of yaoi-drawing robots...
Oh, and this.
What the fuck, Japan? No, you know what? No. It isn't fucking OK. Put your over-enthusiastic peace-sign down and shut up about "desu, desu!!!!," we're done. Stop it. No, I'm out of here. Don't ever try to fucking call me again.
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