If you really, honestly want to make sure that I absolutely despise you, that I want nothing to do with you, and that, in fact, you are in my book one of the few people worth killing QUICKLY if only because I don't WANT your blood on my hands...

...fuck with my boys.

Mentally. Emotionally. Physically. PAWS OFF. Mine.

And I don't take that lightly.

See, you do anything, ANYTHING, to upset them, you upset me, guaranteed. You do anything, ANYTHING, to piss them off or worry them or harm them or confuse them, or ANYTHING that I haven't given you fucking PERMISSION to do to them?

Boom.

Strike one.

You only GET one strike when it comes to those I own and care about. I am FAR more protective of them than I will ever be of myself. Fact of life. Bad line to cross.

And you crossed it.

Fuckwit.

Gods. And then to say you don't know WHY I'm furious. Really, huh?

You don't have even a CLUE?

Arrogant, idiotic, over-egoed, self-important, misbeguided son of a warthog and a tavern slut... get the FUCK away from my boys.

Yes. You're welcome to apologise, if you mean it. Prick. You're welcome to try to make up for it, if you can find a way. Puffed-up little toad. You're welcome, even, to do your best to convince me you didn't mean it.

But guess what?

You've got A HELL OF A LOT of convincing to do.

Fuckwit.

Let me make this just a bit clearer:

You. Do. Not. Mess. With. Mine.

Ever.

Got it?

Good.

Now bugger off.