I will crush the testicles of anyone who does what Paul says, send the pulpy remains of their manhood to their mothers with a special note indicating the included jar of meat is the first of a series of delicious preserves their lovable sons have signed them up to sample, and encourage them to record themselves consuming it with a crusty bread and dark beer so their sons can watch them enjoy it.
How will your mothers feel when the next jar in the series doesn't arrive? Upset, I imagine. You terrible offspring.
