You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. I wager you couldn't empty a boot of excrement were the instructions on the heel. You are a canker. A sore that won't go away. I would rather kiss a lawyer than be seen with you. Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attempting to impress us with your insight. The evidence that you are a nincompoop will still be available to readers, but they will be able to access it more rapidly.

You snail-skulled little rabbit. Would that a hawk pick you up, drive its beak into your brain, and upon finding it rancid set you loose to fly briefly before spattering the ocean rocks with the frothy pink shame of your ignoble blood. May you choke on the queasy, convulsing nausea of your own trite, foolish beliefs. You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid, nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You're a fool, an ignoramus.

And what meaning do you expect your delusional self-important statements of unknowing, inexperienced opinion to have to us who think and reason? What fantasy do you hold that you would believe that your tiny-fisted tantrums would have more weight than that of a leprous desert rat, spinning rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of the snake? You are a waste of flesh.

You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a disease, you puerile one-handed slack-jawed , drooling meatslapper. You smarmy lagerlout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock. You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john. You clouted boggish foot-licking twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You gormless crook-pated tosser. You churlish boil-brained clotpole ponce. You cockered bum-bailey poofter. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill.

You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away. I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. I mean rock-hard stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid so stupid that it goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid. Some pure essence of a stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond the laws of physics that we know. I'm sorry. I can't go on.

This is an epiphany of stupid for me. After this, you may not hear from me again for a while. I don't have enough strength left to deride your ignorant questions and half-baked comments about unimportant trivia, or any of the rest of this drivel. Duh. I mean, really, stringing together a bunch of insults among a load of babbling was hardly effective.

True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal" people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering. But we sometimes forget that there are "challenged" persons in this world who find these things more difficult. If I had known, that this was your case then I would have never read your post. It just wouldn't have been "right". Sort of like parking in a handicap space. I wish you the best of luck in the emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing such a demand on you.

You're an idiot. A moron of the highest order. You're so stupid it's a wonder and a pity you can remember to breath. Intelligent ideas bounce off your head as if it were coated with teflon. Creative thoughts take alternate transportation in order to avoid even being in the same state as you. If you had an original thought it would die of loneliness before the hour was out. On an intelligence scale of 1 to 10 (10 corresponding to the highest attainable IQ) you're rating is so far into negative numbers that one would need to travel into another quantum reality in order to even catch a distant glimpse of it.

Your personality is that of a rabid Chihuahua intent on destroying its own tail. Your powers of observation are akin to those of the bird that keeps slamming into the picture window trying to get that other bird it keeps seeing. You are walking, talking proof that you don't have to be sentient to survive, and that Barnum was thinking of you when he uttered his immortal phrase regarding the birth of a sucker. You are, at varying times, tedious, boring, and even occasionally earth shatteringly hilarious in your idiocy, routinely childish, moronic, pathetic, wretched, disgusting and pitiful.

You are wholly without any redeeming social grace or value. If God ever decides to give the planet an enema you'd better run like the wind because anywhere you stand is a suitable place for The Insertion. There is no animal so disgusting, so vile that it deserves comparison to you, for even the lowest, dirtiest, most parasitic member of the animal kingdom fills an ecological niche. You fill no niche. To call you a parasite would be injurious and defamatory to the thousands of honest parasitic species. You are worse than vermin, for vermin do not pretend to be what it is not. You are truly human garbage. You are a fraudulent, lying, predatory charlatan. You are of less worth than a burnt-out light bulb. You will forever live in shame.

You have nothing to say, and Godwin's Law does not apply when writing about you. You are the anti-Midas, for all that you touch becomes valueless and unusable. Mothers gather their children close when you appear. You are an aberration, a corruption, and a boil that needs to be lanced. You are a poison in need of being vomited. You are a tooth so rotten it infects the whole body. You are sperm that should have been captured in a condom and flushed down a toilet.

I don't like you. I don't like anybody who has as little respect for others as you do. Go away, you swine. You're a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a cad, and a weasel. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon. You are a curdled staggering mutant dwarf smeared richly with the effluvia and offal accompanying your alleged birth into this world. Meaningful to no one, abandoned by the puke-drooling, giggling beasts that sired you and then killed themselves in recognition of what they had done.

I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I wretch at the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut. Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are a weed, a fungus, and the dregs of this earth. And did I mention you smell? Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won't have sex with you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot. You are a waste of flesh. On a good day you're a halfwit. You are deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality of wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted. You are the source of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go.

You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away. I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. The only thing worse than your logic is your manners. Maybe later in life, after you have learned to read, write, study, spell, and count, you will have more success. True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal" people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering. It just wouldn't have been "right". Sort of like parking in a handicap space. I wish you the best of luck in the emotional, and socia

343 did nothing wrong. i'd rather blame Mr. Krabs, who is obviously the Bourgeois business owner who ruthlessly exploits Squidward and Spongebob. There is no question about this, it is repeatedly demonstrated that Mr. Krabs is a cruel boss, pathetically obsessed with money even at the expense of his own health (“Squid's Day Off”). He has attempted to charge his workers for breathing (“Squid on Strike”), forced them to work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week (“Graveyard Shift”) and even traded Spongebob's soul for a measly 62 cents (“Born Again Krabs”). His continual protection of the Krabby Patty Secret Formula from Plankton, in which he enlists the involuntary help of Spongebob (who sees it as a valiant quest to protect the honor of the Krusty Krab) and Squidward (who is just in it for the paycheck), is nothing more than a cheap quest to protect the profit margin of the Krabby Patty, which he likely sells for more than it is worth. There are two ways his workers can react to this awful situation, and Spongebob and Squidward each represent one of them. Squidward is the class-conscious worker. He is fully aware of his miserable situation under the thumb of Mr. Krabs, thus resulting in his depressed and irritable attitude. He is clearly no stranger to Marxist ideas, being the only one of the two to quit due to Krabs' abuse (“Can You Spare a Dime?”) and starting a strike against Mr. Krabs (“Squid on Strike”). He finds solace in art, and dreams of living in a utopian Fully Automated Luxury Communism, relaxing while making his art and sharing it with the world. It was Oscar Wilde, after all, who argued in The Soul of Man Under Socialism that only when their needs are fully accounted for can the artist truly hone their creative genius. He is continually disappointed with his fellow proletarians, the denizens of Bikini Bottom, most of all Spongebob.
If one thinks about it, Squidward really has no apparent reason to hate Spongebob. Spongebob is incredibly kind to Squidward, giving him gifts, saying good morning to him every day, altogether just trying to bring joy into Squidward's life. We are led to believe that Squidward is simply a curmudgeon who hates Spongebob for being happy while he is depressed. But is that really as deep as it goes? I think not. Once one realizes the Marxist undertones in Spongebob, the answer is clear: Squidward resents Spongebob because he is not class-conscious.
Despite his miserable working conditions, despite his boss's abusive behavior, Spongebob remains relentlessly optimistic. A classic case of the unconscious worker. He is cheerful and optimistic about his condition because he is unaware of anything beyond it. He has a Stockholm Syndrome-esque relationship with his boss, seeing him as a father figure (a classic symptom of blind obedience to authority) and enduring humiliating treatment because he holds on to the promise of one day owning the Krusty Krab, thus taking Krabs' place as the new Bourgeois. Given that he does not even know what a Strike is (“Squid on Strike”) it is clear that he has never been exposed to the Marxist critique. In this context, Squidward represents the ill fate of the worker who does not respect his fellow worker. His attempt at revolution fails because he does not respect Spongebob, and simply tried to use him as a pawn for his own ends. But I digress.
Patrick represents what Marx called the Lumpenproletariat. Unemployed, he is left out of the class struggle, and even if he were involved in it would be too stupid to do anything, as symbolized in his attempt at employment in “Big Pink Loser”. However his value to Squidward, the class-conscious worker who hopes for revolution, is underrated. Marxists from Bakunin onward have criticized Marx's rejection of the lumpenproletariat, and Stephen Hillenburg is no exception. Patrick clearly has the socialist spirit in him, recognizing the value of idleness and enjoying life's simple pleasures. Patrick never seeks after money or power as the Bourgeois expects him to, he simply wants to live out his life in peace. He values friendship over all things; he once admitted to spending all day waiting for his best friend, Spongebob, to come back (“New Student Starfish”). Could this represent how industrial work gets in the way of social bonds? Possibly. The point, my friend, is that Patrick in his idle lumpen state has captured the same optimism and joie de vivre of Spongebob. It could be said that the only difference between him and Spongebob is that Spongebob has subsumed to industrial work. In this way, he is the proletarian who is conscious of Socialist ideas without even knowing it.
Sandy and Plankton represent two possibilities of the future in Marxist analysis. Both of them are clearly college-educated scientists whose approach to technology differs based on their position towards Capitalism. Plankton represents the dystopian Capitalist future, the future of Cyberspace where companies like the Chum Bucket control society (remember that Plankton's expressed goal is to “take over the world”). He represents a cold, distant, inhuman, industrial future, as symbolized by the cold metal interior of the Chum Bucket.
Sandy, on the other hand, seems as well-versed in technology as Plankton, but has used it for a completely different purpose. She has created the treedome, an ecological, self-sustaining utopia in which she has everything she needs. She built a rocket to the moon for the sole purpose of exploration (“Sandy's Rocket”). She pursues science out of pure wonder and a desire for the fulfillment of knowledge, unlike Plankton who pursues science out of a desire for domination and control. She represents Fully Automated Luxury Communism, a utopia in which everyone has everything they need and are free to pursue their passions without the burden of work.
Finally, we have Mrs. Puff. Mrs. Puff was a hard one, but I think she represents the failure and uselessness of modern education. She continually attempts to teach Spongebob a useless skill (he walks to work, he doesn't need to drive) for a pathetic trinket of authority (his driver's license, whose possibility of attainment he worships).