The truth is everybody talks to the michael ( this name doesn’t deserve capital letter because of asshole michaels) like to rustic mongrel, which somebody kindly didn’t drown in Pcim Bottom or some twat place, instead graciously keeping this abberation on the chain.
Mikey, Mike – they call them – I see only this barking cattle, crossing all of the surrounding dogs to the eight generation, which whines for slops and half-rotten scraps from the lord’s table.
It’s better to be named Alphonse – less shame in your life.
