Sports! Sports! They make you popular, they make you strong,
Pick on the freaks, pick on the duds,
You get to date rape the cheerleader chicks,
And pick on the dorks,
And if you don’t even try,
You’ll end up like me (The Poet Laureate of South Korea & the Muslim world and a celebrity due to your insanity):

I didn’t have to do this. I could have left. I could have fled. But no, I will no longer run. It’s not for me. For my children, for my brothers and sisters that you fucked, I did it for them… When the time came, I did it. I had to.
You don’t know how lucky you were, it all wasn’t enough for you was it?
You wanna rape us John Mark Karrs? You wanna rape us Debra Lafaves? Fuck you.
You have vandalized my heart, raped my soul and torched my conscience. You thought it was one pathetic boy’s life you were extinguishing. Thanks to you, I die like Jesus Christ, to inspire generations of the weak and the defenseless people.
Do you know what it feels to be spit on your face and to have trash shoved down your throat? Do you know what it feels like to dig your own grave? Do you know what it feels like to have throat slashed from ear to ear? Do you know what it feels like to be torched alive? Do you know what it feels like to be humiliated and be impaled upon on a cross? And left to bleed to death for your amusement? You have never felt a single ounce of pain your whole life. Did you want to inject as much misery in our lives as you can just because you can? You had everything you wanted. Your Mercedes wasn’t enough, you brats. Your golden necklaces weren’t enough, you snobs. Your trust fund wasn’t enough. Your vodka and Cognac weren’t enough. All your debaucheries weren’t enough. Those weren’t enough to fulfill your hedonistic needs. You had everything.

You had a hundred billion chances!! And now I’m just a dead, homicidal psychopath that gets post-humous celebrity-deity status.