Roasting skull

You parade about with the self-assurance of a cat in a top hat, yet possess the depth of a puddle outside Buckingham Palace. One might assume you’re the result of an unfinished Oxford experiment—half wit, half waffle. Your conversational prowess is rivalled only by a malfunctioning toaster. If mediocrity were a competition, you’d win gold without even trying. Do be a dear and vanish gracefully into obscurity. There's a good sport.