An occasional feature highlighting the wackiest conversations found in the wild unregulated hinterland of Deadspin's Pending Submissions.

So, we're shoehorning this puppy in there because JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. This was just brought to my attention tonight. Sit down, take a few deep breaths, and mentally prepare yourself to have your shit ruined forever.

From the (days old) No Love Red Wings post. Meet MJsThrowbackBitch.

Give these people a break, they're from Detroit. It's like expecting Bill O'Reilly to be civil or a cat to not chase a mouse. Being a total asshat is implanted on your DNA if you have Detroit on your birth certificate. 5/07/13 2:11pm

Zing! Ouch! BURNED.

Sike, this comment is crap. It's a ho-hum dig at Detroit. No big deal, right?

WRONG, BITCH. Meet mk154.

Your making fun of Detroit when you are from Cleveland hahahahaahaha you obviously didn't make it through high school...how's your hockey team? O didn't make it into the playoffs AGAIN. Meanwhile the Red Wings are currently in their 22nd consecutive appearance and tied in the series with the #2 seed. I'll take a bow now. Go back in your hole troll! 5/07/13 11:09pm

[H]ow's your hockey team? How, and I mean ON EARTH, could anyone recover from such a burn? Ball's in your court, MJsThrowbackBitch.

Two differences between you and me are readily apparent:

1.) I realized Cleveland is what it is and moved (Chicago).

2.) I realized Cleveland, while a pretty murky place to live, at least isn't Detroit.

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Congrats on cherishing accomplishments you had nothing to do with attaining. 5/08/13 10:23am

One thing is readily apparent about both of you:

1.) [gratuitous wanking motion]

Meet BigSexyKnockoutZed.

Congratulations. You scrounged up enough to get a bus ticket out of Cleveland. You must be exhausted. Why don't you fall asleep counting all the championships your hometown has won since '48. Meanwhile, DETROITER Dan Gilbert remains the best thing about Cleveland. Sunday 11:18pm

For those keeping score, this is the second time one person has tried to burn another person with a dig at the number of championships his home teams have won. I'm not sure I want to live in a world where a disembodied fist doesn't come pistoning out of the computer screen to assault these people as they type this crap.

Back to you, MJsThrowbackBitch:

And me in repeat:

Congrats on cherishing accomplishments you had nothing to do with attaining. Yesterday 11:11am

Yes, just keep congratulating each other over and over again. Congratulations you! No, congratulations YOU! No! No! Congratulations fuckin' YOU!

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That being said, maybe you shouldn't hang out on a website for sports fans. That's kinda what we do. Yesterday 1:12pm

Oh God oh God oh God I did not ask for this peak inside the mind of an ESPN commenter oh God I want my innocence back Christ Christ Christ Lord Jesus No! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

MJsThrowbackBitch?

No, normal people cheer for their favorite teams on sport websites.

Well . . . maybe.

Deranged trolls talk shit to people on a personal level about sports teams. Hope you can see this fundamental, easy difference. I cheer for several teams from Cleveland, one from Liverpool, a few national teams, and a few individuals but I do not co-opt their successes or failures as my own. Especially to become an internet tough guy to others. Yesterday 1:35pm

Astonishingly, the most intelligent part of this conversation has already happened.

This lesson about deranged trolls is about to take a startling, massively depressing turn. Gird your loins, readers.

Here I am, in Detroit. You can inbox me and I will drive to Chicago or I can send you my info. Either way, you can define out pretty quickly if I'm Internet tough or really tough. I'm game to show you, Buckeye. Yesterday 6:37pm

BigSexyKnockoutZed is going to . . . drive . . . from one city (Detroit) . . . to a whole different city (Chicago) . . to prove his toughness . . . to a stranger . . . from the internet.

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True story: when I was a wild irresponsible young man, I once had an incredibly bad idea: I decided to walk several miles along a four-lane road into an unfamiliar neighborhood, find a particular house I'd never seen before, stand defiantly outside it, and angrily hurl insults at the mean, mean girl who lived there until she was forced to come down and beg my forgiveness face to face (crying, as women do, of course). I actually set out on foot! On foot. Several miles! I made it maybe 300 yards down the road before the embarrassment of what I was doing came rushing over me like a tidal wave of butt-smell and chased me back to my home. I have never told a single soul about this momentary lapse in defensible thinking before this very moment.

I was 11 years old when this happened.

Back to you, gentlemen!

First off, a few things:

One, congrats on living in Detroit and having working internet service. Two, another congrats on having a car that can make a trek a few hundred miles, lord knows in Detroit you're in a very small minority on this.

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Three, another congrats on having food to eat because Detroit SUX LOL!!! Four, yet another congrats on the sun and the moon and all the stars in the sky because why not? Five, congrats on I AM THE CONGRATULATOR YOU WILL HAVE MY CONGRATULATIONS BY GOD.

By all means, if you want smacked down a bit, or in need of work above the pay grade of manning the deep fryer come to Chicago anytime. You can usually find me at my home or between your girlfriends legs directing traffic. Yesterday 6:52pm

Now tell him about how you banged his mom!

Inbox me, champ. Planet_1911@att.net

I'm sorry, I've gotta know: what is this "inboxing" behavior? Am I to assume this is Detroit-area slang for "email"?

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We no longer have to engage on keyboards. Yes, let me get off this deep fryer and make my way to where you talk shit. I welcome your challenge and look forward to taking this offline. Yesterday 10:05pm

Shit just got real, y'all.

Oh, wait, BigSexyKnockoutZed is still going. Continue, please.

Actually, I'll make it easy on you. You pick a boxing gym in Chicago and let me know when you'd like to spar, Friday, Saturday or Sunday, and I'll meet you there. I'll be the guy there with the big mouth and a Red Wing jersey on. Lets stop talking and start being real world tough. The fucking Internet and liquor, with their propensity to create brave men...Yesterday 10:17pm

. . . what the hell is going on here?

you want to spar with gloves on? what a puss. I was just going to do this in my courtyard or in the alley behind the local pizzeria. Today 11:13am

There must be some way we can disqualify these men from the gene pool.

Yes, that's right, I'm the pussy. Lets go with that narrative, Buckeye, if that makes you feel better. Stay safe behind that keyboard. Today 11:58am

There's an argument to be made that this represents some kind of low point in human history. My imaginary fight scenario is tougher than yours! If there's anything like justice in the universe, these two men's penises are shrinking away to nothing tonight.

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Come to Chicago (I'll comp your bus fare), and send me your phone number when you get it.

Then turn around three times while doing the Funky Chicken with only your right side! Then wink 74 times in an alternating pattern while touching your tongue to the tip of your nose! If the wind blows from the northeast at exactly 4:14:23pm

I'll drive over to the bus terminal, quickly knock you out, then put you back on a bus home. You should come to sometime in Gary, which you'll mistake for Detroit on first sight since it's also an open sewer of a town.

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Well, okay, he's right about that last part. Gary smells like a burning outhouse.

Sound good? Today 12:07pm

No. Sounds like you need mental help, looney tune. Christ.

Bring us home, BigSexyKnockoutZed. For the love of God.

Now you're tough? You won't hurt shit and won't let shit die, you Hippocratic Oath ass motherfucker.

Gotta say, I did not see that one coming. [slashes wrists]

I challenged you to a straight up boxing match at a gym of your choice, where you could be safely whisked to an ambulance after I put you away,

buhdee-buhdee-buhdee-buhdee [swallows fistful of Vicodin]

and you made a joke. It's ok, man. You stay pussy, gangster typist. Keep on typing and enjoy that latte your lover made you,

?

wearing the socks your dad knitted you. Today 6:47pm

!

[dies]