Walk away to save your face, you never were a genius

I hate patronizing bastards. I really do. Most of all I hate not being able to think of the right thing at the right time to snap right back. God, I wish I could spend days lovingly polishing insults to throw in their face, something that snaps through the hump on top of their backs housing their egos to lance it with one swift stroke, like a particularly malevolent boil. But all I do is stare speechless because I can never think of what to say. I hate it.