Hand them over, Chrissa, or I'll cut your bangs.
Wait, you don't have bangs? Right, you will when I'm done with you, and in places you didn't know you could grow bangs.
WTF, AG, WTF? Knitting needles for CHRISSA?
You bastards. I knit. Me. Angry Jess. Not some wussy LE-come-lately who smells of llama and pool chlorine. I'm so pissed. It's time for a Yarn Smackdown. That's right. Be afraid, be very afraid.
And then we'll all be sporting new tats, like this one Jiggy got at the last Yarn Smackdown:
I'm going to personally tat Chrissa. I know just where to do it, too.
What's that, AG? You want to see samples of my work? Bite me. My portfolio on a bad day is way more awesome than anything Chrissa could knit with her gnarly llama wool. Look you bastards, just look, and weep at my Art:
Knitting needles, my muslin arse. Those were meant for ME.
You suck, AG. Do you hear me? YOU SUCK.