John Tetzlaff won't buy me a bass; part 2: You cheap bastard

Well, I sit here, biding my time, and yet my brand new bass hasn't shown up yet. I know John Tetzlaff will break down, stop being a self-serving cheap-shit and buy me a bass, but he hasn't done it yet, which leads me to one conclusion.
John Tetzlaff is a horrible person.
Why, you may ask, have I just called John Tetzlaff a horrible person? Did he participate in Apartheid? Does he kick puppies down the stairs, or kill the Poles by the thousand? I say nay nay. He won't buy me a damn bass! C'mon, Uncle Money-sacks, get off your über-rich, poshly adorned ass, and buy me a damn bass, you.. you... you pompous ninny! Thats right, I said it! You're nothing more than an... an... an overinflated, pompous ninny!

But, then, maybe I'm looking at this all wrong, maybe it's not that you refuse to buy me a bass, but that you refuse to do anything... that you sit at home all day, reeking of sour milk and 5-day old cheerios, staring blankly at the monitor of your computer as the starfield simulation screensaver takes you deeper into your hypontic geekery. You don't even bother to scratch the bedsores that have formed on your non-bass buying body. Well, maybe buying me a bass will take you out of that self-destructive rut, and get you into a groove, hopefully which involves purchasing me many more basses, as well as a grand piano, a Porsche, and thee Alpacas. But John, you must take that first step! Pull yourself out of your misery... buy me a bass! Only you can help yourself buy me a bass. I can't do it for you, or it would already be done, and we wouldn't be having this conversation, because I'd be playing my new bass. So, John, just pick up the phone, and do the right thing.
Buy me a damn bass.

All names have been changed to protect the innocent... except John Tetzlaff's. Buy me a damn bass.