Ay, Lord, I have been tilling my orchard. To walk nude among the grapes and eat them until my mouth is vampire red is my desire. And the moon that sly silver sliver follows me like a beloved pet. I make the best Cabernet in the World, a limited edition to be use in my love rituals to dampen the mouthes of my slaves.
Lady Lynda has encountered a vituperative whore, a Syphlitic, Slavic Strumphet who entered her private on line conversation calling her an "ugly old cow". Ye sloe-eyed Bitch, how dare ye deign to judge the lovely Lady Lynda, who shines from within? Ye are probably made of elastic plastic, the courtesy of surgury. Lady Lynda, ever the wit, suggested that you were a cancled Czech. And indeed, you will be by the time I am finished with you. Never, ever , shall you attack my favorite mortals. They are of fine character and genteel disposition, and anyone knows a lady never degrades herself in a cat fight, so I shall defend her myself.
You are of a cheap, ordinary metal, and a slave to men, and know not what a sonnet is. I, The Black Orchid, am the mistress of my men and the Lover of the Minotaur. You rot from the inside out: there is a fetid strench coming from you like the bowels of hell! Burned at the stake like the late Jean D'Arc. It would be pleasant compared to what I will do to you if you cross my path, you odiferous, foul mouthed Bitch. A pox on Ye, Bella Pussay!