You're the kind of pathetic, oxygen wasting waste of skin who gets off on writing fanfiction about beating up women to compensate for the fact that your ent LMAO!ire bloodline should've ended with the sperm that missed the toilet? Let me guess, your idea of foreplay is asking your hand if it feels threatened yet, and the only pounding you've ever done is your forehead against the keyboard when you realize nobody, nobody, will ever love you enough to tolerate the rancid sewer gas you call a personality. You're not just a failure, you're the human equivalent of a participation trophy in a contest nobody entered, a walking monument to the fact that evolution can go backwards. The only thing you'll ever knock out is the last shred of dignity your parents had when they realized they raised something that even a landfill would reject for being too toxic.