Only one weeping is you. I live in NYC, born in NY, I've watched more NYK games than you ever have. Sit down, SON. You got no character, even though you are one.
And don't talk to me about my relevance, when the only evidence is my ascendance. You bitch like a bitch going through her adolescence. Prepubescence? Boy, I just handed you my calling card, fist marks on your face. Still my essence is benevolent, so I'll leave you with that middle finger you made, let you suck it while you recover from the truth, of me and my precision punching that's all but dynastic.