I wouldn't touch you with a long metal pole. No way! You can try and have me cloned and cage the produce of my genetic loins but even those captives would instinctively abhor you. You can wait for my rebirth in some far future, but even there I won't go near you. Not even if you were the only woman left, hot-blooded and all.
And I'm the only mosquito left, in futile search of an alternative sanguine source. No, I'll keep my proboscis to myself, thank you. I'd rather shrivel up and die or succumb to some other predator.
Not even if you wore the most comely visage. Or came to me in dream as if you were my beloved. I would smell you in any realm. Even in the very pits of hell. They lied to you when they said that no infernal fury existed that could match a woman scorned. I have given you my scorn. Come take the wrath that will surpass you.
And if you still come anywhere near me or my circle, do not fear brutish reprisal or some of those crowd-favored, loud, cinematic retributions. Spite takes a plethora of forms and I am not crude. It would not hurt you now to take notes.
Here, I'll tell you. Do you know your scripture, how eye matches eye and tooth crosses tooth? Dearie, I am forever loath to even chance upon your dull-colored, vacuous orbs. And I would never kiss you as you purport, I would rather you gnash your teeth by yourself.
So what is the poor man left to do? He'll have your teeth thrust into your very eyes.