How can you look at yourself in the mirror every morning and not want to light yourself on fire?! You plant-loving son of a bitch, you deserve a blazing case of herpes. The chances of you getting an STD from your dumbass plants, though, is slim to none. Get a life, prick.

Why don’t you stick that green thumb of yours right up your loose poophole. Your turd cutter probably has trouble holding your fecal matter inside your body. I hate you and your effing carnations. Flower loving douche.

You tree hugging hippie, I bet you probably strip naked and dance around in your vegetable garden. Do your home-grown tomatoes taste good enough to justify your self-imposed exile from humans? Doubt it.

You probably cover your pasty, naked body with green leafy vegetables and rape puppies. That’s sick. You’re an asshole.

Here’s a thought: why don’t you horticulture some poison ivy, pack a bong and smoke a pound or two. With any luck, you’ll have a massive allergic reaction and collapse among your beloved ferns, and maybe impale yourself on a giant stalk of bamboo.

Go take a flying leap off a giant redwood. Maybe your stupid, rotting corpse will provide some nourishment to the giant plant that doesn’t give a tinker’s damn about you. Go fornicate yourself, but for the sake of all that’s good, don’t you dare reproduce. You really piss me off.