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Merriam-Webster offers a definition of "man" as "one possessing in high degree the qualities considered distinctive of manhood." When I take those words into consideration and think of you, I can't help but to roll my eyes. I laugh, scoff, and sneer at the very idea of referring you as anything close to masculine. You are no man; you are a pitiful, worthless, little hobbit of a creature who serves no purpose other than amuse me. You are like a tiny, brainless mouse that is continuously batted, nipped, and tossed around the room by the cat who knows she is by far superior to the feeble-minded rodent and, therefore, relishes torturing the poor fool.

Oh! I'm sorry. You are too thickheaded and slow to understand that analogy, aren't you? Let me just say that you are the doltish, moronic, dumpster-diving mouse to my crafty, sagacious feline. Still confused and lost? Of course you are - because you are a half-witted loser - and I revel in mocking your inadequacies: empty mind, inane chattering, dinky winky... and the list grows. You are a living, breathing example of idiocy and stunted growth where it matters most. Absolutely pathetic...

I do hope you have enough common sense to realize that a woman of my all-encompassing superiority only tolerates you because you provide me with two essential things: side-splitting humor and compensation for my attention. Let's face it: You really have nothing else to offer a woman like me - or any other for that matter. However, because you astound me with your imbecilic mind and infantile weinlet, I will take the time to humor myself by pointing out your shortcomings and forcing you to continue wallowing in your many deficiencies. If I'm lucky, maybe you'll cry and wail like a little girl because the truth hurts your little feelings. Poor, poor baby... *wickedly laughs*

So... How much truth, abuse, and humiliation can you take? Call Mistress EmmaJane, and let's push you to the limit.