f*** me? f*** me? f*** me? NO. f*** you. And how fitting that these should be the last two words you ever speak. One last hurrah for beer muscles and broken noses. Right, cowboy? Right, cowboy? But this time, John Wayne chokes on his own blood in a bar parking lot. I'm done being "better than this'. So you'd better stop and count backwards from shut the f*** up. Will you look at what you made me do? You wanted to know if there was "a problem here.' I'd say you've got a pretty big problem now. Just how do you plan on getting all those teeth back in? Is there a problem here? Well, ask yourself this question: Do I feel lucky? You shouldn't. This is real.