Fwoosh! To feel flustered. A fierce-some flying ferocious flaming fist of Fateful fiery fury. This flail, no mere flamboyance, is a fancy force to forget and forgive the furtive fornication of fumbling fucktards, now futilely failing against the finale. However, this fabrication of ferocity stands to fight the foul, fence off the frontage of foes, falsify the fiendish fortitude of forlorn fetuses, flinging folks into frenzy. The only fashion is a fibrillation; a finishing flutter, not to feign, but for favoring the floccinaucinihilipilification of foolishness. Fake? Forsake it. For I have forgotten my formalities. Finally finished...

You may call me Falcon Punch.

(I wanted to do a tribute to my favourite movie of all time; V for Vendetta.)