Sweet mother of pearl! What the fishpaste did you just fucking say about Mr Krabs, you little nematode? I’ll have you know Eugene “Armor Abs” Krabs graduated top of his class in the Navy, and he’s been involved in numerous secret raids on Shell City, and he has over 300 confirmed sales. Mr Krabs is trained in gorilla warfare and he’s the top seller of fast food burgers in the entire seven seas. You are nothing to Krabs but just another customer. Krabs will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before in Bikini Bottom, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit about Mr Krabs over the Internet? Think again, barnacle-head. As we speak Mr Krabs is contacting his secret network of Navy buddies across the ocean and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, lad. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking tartar sauce, me boy. Krabs can be anywhere, anytime, and he can sell you a Krabby Patty in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with his big, meaty claws. Not only is Krabs extensively trained in unarmed sales tactics, but he has access to the entire arsenal of the Krusty Krab franchise and he will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable tail fin off the face of the sea floor, you little bottom feeder. If only you could have known what Neptunian retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking gills. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn kelp-for-brains. Mr Krabs will shit fury all over you and you will drown in Davy Jones’s Locker. You’re fucking dead, boyo.