If you’re enough of a pansy-ass wimpster douche to have a fucking Vespa chair, then I can assure you that I’ll ride the parts of the Vespa that weren’t harvested to further craft your tired image right into your Super Hip Loft and drive straight into your stupid face while you’re sitting in that chair video chatting with your dipshit friends about being too blacked out drunk to remember the bands you saw play last night, though you did remember giving some cruster a blowjob after you found dried-up jizz in your Ikat scarf. And then you’ll die.