It is without delay that I inform you that you are a festering pustule of the most smelly decaying putrescence, contaminating the universe with your despised ichor. There is no cure for your kind, and you will undoubtedly make others sick with your malign presence as you stroll awkwardly and ignorantly through your meaningless life. Indeedly, you are the reason why spermacidal lubricant was invented, as it is much easier to prevent a disease like yourself than it is to stop you once you've started spreading. YOu are vile within, as well as without, much like a turgid colostomy pinata, swollen with fermented fecal ooze that splatters upon everyone and everything when you open up to others.
Pray for death and hope not for the curse of reincarnation, immortality, or the likeness of your foul image on trading cards. You are bereft of all that is good in the universe, and as a result, my contempt for your feeble loathesomeness is without limitation. Condemnation doesn't say enough to justify the extent to which one should go to erase you and any memories associated with you from time itself.
May salvation find you in the form of a large swift-moving train which falls from the sky, to be covered with tons of molten plasma which hardens to form a nigh-invulnerable mountain which can never be excavated.
Have a nice day.