What in the name of Eli Whitney did you just spout forth about my person, you impudent Yankee? I must say unto thee that I finished top of my class at West Point, have led numerous clandestine sorties into Kansas, and own over 300 negro slaves. I am schooled in Napoleonic warfare and am the top duelist in the entire Confederacy. I am bowed up to smite thee with a fury that has never been seen south of the Mason-Dixon, by golly. You reckoned you could escape retribution by conveying such filth via yonder telegraph? I'm afraid that dog won't hunt, Yankee. As we speak I am mustering my underground network of copperheads across the Union and your telegraph office is being figured out lickety-split so you hath better prepare for a dust-up, bless your heart. The dust-up that will extinguish the pathetic spark of your being. Thou shalt soon shuffle off this mortal coil, varmint. I can challenge thee to a duel at any time and any place and dispatch thee in over seven hundred manners via merely fisticuffs. Not only am I extensively schooled in pugilism, but I can requisition the entire armament of the Army of Northern Virginia and employ the whole kit 'n caboodle in order to cleanse thy filth from the Land of Cotton, you uppity abolitionist. If only y'all could have perceived what ruination thy "slick" squawking hath marshaled against you, mayhaps you would've held your tongue. But you could not refrain, you did not abstain, and shall now reap the pain. I will engulf thee in grits and thou shalt choke upon them. Bless your heart, Yankee.