do you want to trade with me? Or be in my group?

Of all the endless goat swarms that have ever invaded Moscow, none of them have sung praises so well as those that sung praises of you. In the elderly light of the coming dawn, when God will anoint on her throne, may those goats come again to sing your praises before the one on high, that they will know you are mighty and that your methods are great. They will prove you are worthy of the highest of esteem and deserve the worth of a million singing plants that know all the classic dignified folk songs of all the passed ages.
For you, may these goats sing, and for your glory, may wealth flow. In your honor I recognize you, sir Breenland, and I pray that the powers of the universe will grant you nice things.

whats going on my dude.

I Can't Belive It's Not CommunistPrime™

[Giant wall of text that leaves uninvolved parties uncertain of whether I am angry with you or just a friend being a smartass.]

You'll have to tolerate it, because ♥♥♥♥♥♥: I just wrote your epitaph, and it's a hip-hop single. When you get married, I'm going to release an army of attention-seeking chihuahuas into the crowd and I'm going to steal the moment from being about a life of happiness to being about small bundles of yapping ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥. And you know what? YOU KNOW WHAT? When I bake you a cake, well, let me tell you... I don't know how to bake a ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ cake. I'm going to mess up so bad, you'll never even know how screwed up that cake will be; and I'm not going to use organic ingredients either. I'm going to use pesticide-treated GMO crops from overly alkiline/basic soil.