What the fuck did you just fucking say about Timothée Chalamet, you little bitch?
Its the Navy Seals copypasta but changed to Timothée Chalamet the actor.
What the fuck did you just fucking say about Timothée Chalamet, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in The Juilliard School, and I've been involved in numerous secret off-off-broadway plays in Greenwich Village, and I have over 300 confirmed ticket sales. I am trained in Stanislavski’s system and I'm the top method actor in the entire New York underground theater scene. You are nothing to me but just another critic. I will act you the fuck out with commitment the likes of which has never been seen before on this stage, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the trades? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of out-of-work actors across the USA and your resumé is being mocked right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your career. You're fucking unbookable, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime (I’m unemployed), and I can perform mime-improv in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in jazz, ballet, tap, and modern but I have access to the entire alumni of The Actors Studio and I will use it to its full extent to put on a full-scale Sondheim musical production, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" review in the New York Post was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking typewriter. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price of New York theater admission, you goddamn idiot. I will memory-recall fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're fucking blacklisted, kiddo. Timothee chamalet at a restaurant
Its the Shawn Michaels copypasta but changed to Timothee Chalamet.
I met Timothee chamalet at a restaurant once - we’d accidentally been given his table. Apparently he was fond of the restaurant and had a specific table he liked, and the management had messed up and gotten their days wrong, (it was Tuesday and they thought he was coming on Thursday or something like that). Anyway, the manager, completely embarrassed (this is a pretty nice restaurant) comes by and says “I’m so sorry, but we’d like to move you to another table if you could be troubled, and we’ll gladly compensate you for the cost of the meal and any other meal you’d like while you’re in town.” My sister and cousin were both like “Yeah that’s cool.” and I kind of played the asshole a bit. “I’m sorry, I just don’t understand. We’ve been here for 15 minutes - we’ve just ordered. Can’t we finish our meal here?” Then out of nowhere Timothee shows up next to the manager and says “Paul, these guys can finish. We’ll be at the bar. I got some time.” And I (being a big Tim fan) said “Oh wow, uh… I had no idea. Please feel free to give them the table.” He was grateful, shook my hand and said thanks, then gave me a card with his number on it and told me to give him a call later. After working up the nerve, I gave him a call that night, and to make a long story short, we had a glorious 11 month love affair, man on man, that I shall never forget. Our bodies intertwined as one, and from the beauty of Morocco, to the French Riviera, to the snorkeling in the Galopagos, Timothee and I made glorious gay love to each other on six of the seven continents. 
