: Har har har! Americains stupides! I haf behrrreed you dans mon dust rouge! I haff caused assfixiassion for entirety of your coontree!
: I just don’t get it. I won most of my first tournaments on clay…
: Stupide americain clay! Ho ho ho! Not ze same zing, n’est-ce pas?
: I guess not. Man, I’ve really sucked in the past few years. My strong American jawline no longer causes fear in the hearts of my opponents. I should’ve never broke up with Mandy Moore.
: [UNFUCKINGGODLY NOISE]
: Oh my God I never wanna hear that at 3 am ever again.
: Andy you said you’d give me more MaSha animal sex stories for a sequel to my wildly successful tell-all.
: Pffft, as successful as your results here.
: Why don’t you go get shingles or herpes or whatever the hell that was again? Then you can come back, play good for two months, get everyone’s hopes up, and then flame out consistently?
: Way ahead of you.
: Har har har! None of you shall evarrr conquerrr Roland Garros! Your coontree will forever be cursed to impotence on ze grannnn Fransch stage!
: BITCHES I am ready to win here again don’t you even TRY n’ FRONT.
: Merde. [searches for inhaler]
: Psssst, Justine. Perrhaps you can cheat once more, non?
: Bien sur.
: Allez! Au revoir, Americains! Enjoy your cheezeberrgerrrrrs!