I Want To Fight You Sweden





I want to fight you Sweden. You against me. No tricks. I want the winner to celebrate and the loser to never be remembered. Scared? You better be. I've wiped the floor with meaner countries than you, Sweden. Do you even remember how you got me all wound up? It started last month when a nasty crew of your Stockholm boys busted one of mine. Homeboy by the name of Snoop Dogg, y'heard? The walking lamp posts you call officers were smart enough to find a "drug" in his car but couldn't identify the "drug" nor did they know for absolute certain what it was. After minutes of head scratching and gibberish mumbling your bumbling brigade ascertained that the diggo-double-g was flying sky high on some real scramsble-jamzble. So they gave my man a test. Your country jacked my boy's urine. When I heard that I so wanted to wrap my hands around your miserable neck, Sweden.

Hoping to keep my enemy closer I did some digging in your crates, Sweden, and was amazed to find that your rotten country's economy is rocketing past Saturn. Your welfare system is supreme and your stupid life expectency for your stupid lives is 78 for men and 83 years of age for the women. And you're not only Sweden, but the Kingdom Of Sweden. How great it is to be me - I bet you repeat that to yourself in the mirror, you egomaniac. I hate you Sweden.

And speaking of hate, why do you hate the band Metallica? Yesterday the wires spit out a story that a couple of Swedes named Michael and Karolina Tomaro are currently in court trying to win the right to name their baby daughter Metallica. Apparently your ugly law states that both first and surnames be approved by your secret police before they can be certified. I even read that the Goteburg County Administrative court, which is conveniently located in your dumb country, ruled that there was no good reason to block the name since a Swedish woman was already given the middle name Metallica.

Let me tell you dicks something. When you mess with Metallica you might as well be messing with America, and when you mess with Texas you god bless this mess and you get the horns. What? Ah crap, you've got me all flustered.

Consider this a warning, Sweden. You are so lucky that I am not going to drop these pulverizing fists of mine down on any part of your 173,732 square miles of floating puke. But I do want you to chill the hell out. The world wants you to be cool, Sweden. And stop talking about your meatballs.


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I Want To Fight You Sweden