What the pasta did you just say about me, you little meatball? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Spaghetti Academy, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Ragu, and I have over 300 confirmed meatball kills.

I am trained in pasta warfare and I’m the top spaghetti twirler in the entire Italian armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another meatball. I will wipe you out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my marinara.

You think you can get away with saying that pasta to me over the Internet? Think again, meatball. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spaghetti sauce makers across Italy and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, meatball. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your spaghetti dinner. You’re done, meatball.

I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can cook spaghetti in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in spaghetti combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Italian spaghetti industry and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable meatballs off the face of the continent, you little meatball.

If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your pasta. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you little meatball. I will twirl spaghetti all over you and you will drown in it.

You’re done, meatball.