Mel Gibson Hates You, Expects You to Deal With It.

Mel Gibson kindly invites you to fuck off. And if you could also stick those kitchen tongs over there up your own ass, he'd really appreciate it. Seriously. Just go to hell already. Don't cry to him about how far he's fallen and ask "what happened to the guy who played Riggs?" If Mad Max wanted to hear about your feelings, he'd read the screenplay he just wrote about your life in which he changed your name and occupation to avoid any legal issues.

Also: punch yourself in the dick. You deserve it for eyeballing him like that.

If you don't do it, he will. And he wants those things tenderized.

To be clear, Mel Gibson doesn't want to kill you. He just wants to severely hurt you. In the worst way possible. Broken bones, deep bruises, an eventual skin graft...these things will all be in your future if Mel Gibson has anything to say about it.

And ladies, for the love of Christ, please stop asking him why he's not more like the guy from What Women Want. You and he both know the only response to that will be a titty grab and a purse snatching. His life is not a romantic comedy, it's a snuff film. He doesn't buy flowers, he doesn't make speeches, and he doesn't run through the airport to stop you from flying to Paris. (Unless it's to give you an impromptu brain transplant...with a baseball bat.)

He knows you don't like him, but guess what? He hates your guts, too! He doesn't even know you and he doesn't like you. Deal with it!

Oh, and if Mel had his way with the Ransom script, the kid would have died at the end. Not the character, the actual 9-year-old actor who played his son would have been drowned, off-screen, once the credits started rolling.

You don't even want to know what his intentions for Braveheart were...


*Image courtesy mediaoutrage.com