be mighty thankful to whatever fucked up deity you cow-tow to, that this continent is so big that we'll never cross paths; because if we did, there'd be only three sounds:
1. My fist hitting your fat yap.
2. You hitting the floor.
3. The ambulance hitting 100 mph.
(and because you don't have universal health care, you'll be paying for that ride in the meat wagon, so you'll be bankrupt as well)