fathom
Bow? Bow to who? That bastard? Hell no. What about him? Sure, why not, He seems nice. What about her? Who's Her? Her, right there. Hell no, she's ugly. Why so conscious about who you bow to? I dont just bow to anybody fuckface. I'm not a whore. I didn't say you were. I didn't say you said I was. Shut up, whore. Oh fuck you.
His etiquette was atrocious. He ate the plate of spaghetti like a half-starved hyena, dribbling sauce and noodles all over the napkin-bib he had tucked into his shirt. He smelled of cheap cologne, and I mean, he REALLY smelled like cheap cologne. He leaned with his elbows on the table and screamed loudly over the table to his companions, who were as embarrased about him as every one else was disgusted.