Dear Steve: An Open Letter to a Bastard
 

You swan around here like you aren't an infected anus, and you parade your trophy girlfriend in front of our very faces as if we need reminding that you're punching above your weight like Vern Troyer taking a swing at Giant Haystacks. Surely it'd be less hassle to actually grow a real beard than to go through this 24/7 gay charade of maintaining a metaphorical one. Maybe it's time to pass the fucking ball mate, ya feel me?

In the meantime, have a lovely - and preferably chaste - birthday.

Yours,
the undersigned. And me, Paddy.

:beer: :love:

STEVE FOR THE WIN!

Not even sure what to make of the above.

Anyway, Happy Birthday my love! Hope you celebrate with a thrashtastic alcoholocaust. :love:

Happy your-parents-fucked-like-wild-otters-once day!

I lift this bubbling alka-seltzer filled styrofoam cup up to you.

Hey, happy birthday, ya old fart.

From,
Another old fart

Have a good one!

There are three things that need banging in life: drums, girls and one's head :beer:

SSSSSSSLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYEEEEEEEER

MetalThrashingFag. Fuck ye, Steve!

I am so stealing this.

Steve, you need to drink a lot. A LOT. Happy birthday, drink lots of Arrogant Bastard.

Hey Mike, are you gonna be at Deathfest this year?

Fuck you Steve, I thought this thread was made for the cool Steve.

:beer:

Is there a cool Steve? I don't know of one.

No I am not :( Art thou?

FearFrost is almost decent. I mean, as decent as anyone with a shit name like Steve could be, anyway.

Seriously, anyone named Steve should be mandated by law to be pimply and mullet-headed with a horrible, teenage-quality mustache. Proper, government issued (and enforced) attire for a so-called "Steve" would consist of stained, greasy wifebeaters, nuthugging jeans, and horrible denim vests for the balance of their existence on this Earth. You know, like a 16 year old at a Slayer concert in 1985. That is the proper aesthetic for the accursed name "Steve".

Fucking Steves.

Yup I'll be there. And aside from the pimples and the greasy wifebeater, Chris, that sounds a lot like Steve at 16!

My neighbor's big orange cat is named Steve. It was a stray that appeared after their daughter died tragically. Her dad always wanted a cat called Steve. He must weigh 25 pounds and sounds like a lion when he purrs.