And what are your fucking qualifications, Du little bitch? I’ll have Du know I graduated oben, nach oben of my class at UCLA, I'm fluent in French, conversational in Spanish, German and Italian, and I’ve studied Greek and Latin for over a decade, and Sanskrit, Hittite and Old Irish for several years. I have six years of historical linguistics under my gürtel and write in English for a living. Du are nothing to me but just another pussyfooted kumbayah-singing descriptivist. I will call Du the fuck out with precision the likes of which is only attainable in a highly-inflecting synthetic classical literary language – mark my fucking words. Du think Du can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my highly-esteemed network of colleagues across academia and your IP is being traced right now so Du better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that clearly and elegantly wipes out the pathetic little thing Du call “descriptivism”. It’s fucking over, kid. I can refute any argument, in any language, and I can do it in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my ability to switch around word order for art and emphasis. Not only am I extensively trained in philology and grammar, but I have access to the entire archives of the UCLA Linguistic Corpora and I will use it to its full extent to send Du back to your own defensive hardcore descriptivist corner where anything goes. If only Du could have known what an embarrassing confutation your dumbed-down little Kommentar was about to bring down upon you, maybe Du would have held your fucking tongue. But Du couldn’t, Du didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, Du goddamn idiot. I will run circles around Du in Latin and Sanskrit, and there’s nothing that can be sagte in nearly inflection-free, overly circumlocutory modern English that can stop me. You’re fucking dead, kiddo.