What the fuck did you just fucking say about my OG Jordans, Chumlee? I’ll have you know I waited outside Foot Locker for 3 days and I have over 300 confirmed Yeezy Boost 350s. I am trained in Stan Smiths and I’m the top sneakerhead in the entire Koreatown. You are nothing to me but just another hypebeast. I will flex you the fuck out with sneakers the likes of which has never come through that door, mark my fucking words. You think your buddy who knows a thing can get away with saying that shit to me over cable television? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of resellers across the USA and your retros are being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your collection. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and my Jordans are in over seven hundred colorways, and that’s just with my exclusives. Not only am I extensively trained in sneaker collecting, but I have access to the entire stock of the Supreme Los Angeles store and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of flightclub, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your lowball was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the markup, you goddamn idiot. You’re fucking dead, kiddo.