What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you IPC peon? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Intelligentsia Guild, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on the IPC’s tax loopholes, and I have over 300 confirmed peer-reviewed papers. I am trained in academic warfare and I’m the top logician in the entire Genius Society. You are nothing to me but just another statistical outlier. I will wipe your margins with precision the likes of which has never been seen before in this galaxy, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Penacony Stock Exchange? Think again, gambler. As we speak, I am contacting my secret network of scholars across the cosmos, and your financial portfolio is being traced right now, so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your “profit margins.” You’re fucking bankrupt, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can intellectually dismantle you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my chalkboard. Not only am I extensively trained in theoretical debate, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Intelligentsia Guild’s archives, and I will use them to their full extent to wipe your miserable investments off the face of the market, you short-sighted dilettante. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn fool. I will shit theorems all over you, and you will drown in them. You’re fucking outplayed.