Screeching brakes, skidding tires

Well, things have come this far, kid. You've actually been able to take advantage of my absence to squirrel your way onto my spot, encroach and claim my turf. You've left your greasy chain marks all over my routes, and I don't see you carrying degreaser on your next run to remedy that. Know this, kid. You might've appeared to triumph this round. But the race ain't over. You've got laps to go. And I won't leave this unanswered. Wear a mouthguard, you degenerate scum. It'll save your pearly whites when you bite the dust. And if you beg, I might refrain from leaving rubber compound trails on your ugly mug. Think about it. While you still can.